Pyrite Moon
by ArtisticRainey
Summary: COMPLETE. After Butterflies. On Tracy Island, life continues to grow and change. Tin-Tin and Alan are finally tying the knot and there is much to celebrate. However, someone has finally put two and two together and figured out the identities of International Rescue's crew. They say money is power, but sometimes all the money in the world doesn't have the power to save you.
1. Chapter 1

July 7th, 2070, marked a brand new celebration on Tracy Island.

" _Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Adam. Happy Birthday to you_!"

A chorus of hip-hip-hooray! followed, as well as the biggest smile Scott had ever seen. Newly one-year-old Adam was grinning from ear to ear, clumsily clapping his hands together and looking up at his father.

"Dada, Dada!"

Alan brought Adam in close to the cake, held between Adam's _datuk_ and great-grandmother, and had an identical smile on his face.

"Okay, Adam," he said. "Time to blow out the candles." He grinned at Tin-Tin. "Mama, are you ready to count, too?"

"Mama!"

The little family counted down and together extinguished the single candle on top of an enormous dinosaur themed cake – a Kyrano masterpiece. After the cheers of joy from the assembled family, Scott folded his arms and nudged Virgil with his elbow.

"A year on and I still can't believe Alan's a dad," he said.

Virgil nodded and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops.

"Neither can I."

Their eyes followed the cake as it was whisked over to a folding table. As Kyrano began to carve it up, they moved forward.

Their progress was stopped, however, when a holocamera was shoved in their faces.

"Smile!"

" _Gordon_!" Scott groused, pushing the camera away.

The redhead grinned and shrugged.

"I have been tasked with recording this most special of days," he said, his tone grand, "and that is just what I shall do. So smile, or else you'll forever be recorded as grumpy Uncle Scott."

Scott rolled his eyes, trying to keep the smile off his face.

"I'm going to spend some time with someone intelligent," he said. "Where's Lyra?"

He made a beeline for his eight month old niece, leaving a spluttering Gordon behind. Virgil had already escaped to a cake-filled paradise.

"Hey, little lady," he said, reaching out for Lyra.

Jeff reluctantly acquiesced and handed over his granddaughter. As soon as she was in Scott's arms, Lyra beamed and started burbling at him.

"I know, I know," Scott said, nodding. He cast a glance at his father. "I wish I knew what she was saying."

"You will soon enough," Jeff said. "John was the same. From about nine months we could understand him pretty well. Did you know that she tried to stand up yesterday?"

"She did not!" Scott said. "That's crazy."

"Again, John was the same. You too, now that I think about it," Jeff said, tapping his chin.

"You're going to be a little genius, Lyra," Scott said, holding the girl up in the air. "Isn't that right?"

She dissolved into a fit of giggles, one fist pressed against her mouth. _I bet you can't wait for those front teeth to come through, hmm?_ Scott thought. He lowered Lyra again and cradled her with one arm. Her ever-strengthening back muscles allowed her to sit up straight and take in everything around her with her beautiful green-blue eyes. She seemed to be searching for something. _Or someone…_

"Are you looking for Daddy?" Scott asked.

"Da-da-da-da-da," Lyra said.

"Let's go look at Daddy's picture, shall we?"

Jeff nodded and waved him on. Scott wandered over to his brother's portrait; Gordon, his attention grabbed by the child, followed with the holocam.

While John was on rotation in Five, care of Lyra had fallen to Jeff, who didn't seem to mind at all. However, Scott elbowed his way in as much as possible. There was something about the little blonde girl, all long arms and legs and big eyes, that made him fall in love again every time he saw her.

When he brought her to John's portrait-come-communication device, Lyra's face broke into grin – just in time for Gordon to grab a snap.

"Da-da-da-da!"

"That's right!" Scott said. "Shall we call Dada? I think we'll call Dada, hmm? Gords, would you activate the comm?"

"Sure thing!"

Gordon sprang across the room like an antelope, almost knocking into Virgil in the process. The cake in his hand nearly slipped, but Virg managed to save it.

" _Gordon_!"

"Sorry!" Gordon said, though there was nothing apologetic about his tone. He activated the desk comm with a flourish. "Thunderbird Five from Base. Come in please, Thunderbird Five. There's someone here who wants to say hello."

Scott watched Lyra's face light up as her father appeared on the screen.

"Thunderbird Five here," John said, a model of efficient professionalism – he was even wearing his hat. "What's the –" Then his tone changed. His eyes softened. He grinned at his daughter. "Hey, my little star-baby!"

"Da-da-da-da-da!"

There was a chorus of greeting – some voices more muffled by cake than others.

"How's the party?" John asked. "Is the birthday boy enjoying himself?"

"The party's going great," Tin-Tin said as she approached, leading Adam by the hand. "Say hello to Uncle John."

"'Lo!" the child chorused.

He reached up to his mother, signalling that he wanted to be held, and Tin-Tin scooped him up just before his little legs gave way.

"Hey, Champ," John said. "Happy Birthday!"

Adam giggled and grinned, then turned his attention to his cousin. The two started to babble, reaching out for each other's arms and hair.

Scott watched as John smiled, even if there was a touch of hardness in his eyes _. I wish Five didn't have to be manned_ , Scott thought, _but as Dad says, there's nothing better than human intuition_. Yes, Brains was always improving the computer program that controlled International Rescue's space station for the short spells of time that it was left unmanned, but still, the operation required the human touch. _And how could we live with ourselves if a call for help was missed because the computer didn't pick up on it?_ It was a risk that none of the space monitors – Alan, John or Matthew – were willing to take.

Scott's attention was brought back to the conversation when Lyra's heel dug into his stomach. _Ouch! Strong kid…_

"Thank you very much for the present," Tin-Tin was saying. "His eyes absolutely lit up when he saw it was a dinosaur."

Scott shifted Lyra in his arms. John's present to his nephew had been a four foot tall stuffed diplodocus – the child's eyes had nearly fallen out of his head in awe.

"You're welcome, Tin-Tin," John said. Then he turned his attention to Scott. "How is she, Scott? Everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine," Scott replied. "She's still teething but you can feel the little stubs of her bottom front teeth coming through." His tone softened. "Just a few weeks, John, and then you'll be home again."

"I know, I know," he said. Then his attention was diverted to one of the monitors. "I'd better go," he said. "I'm monitoring seismic activity near Muzaffarabad in Pakistan. There hasn't been an earthquake there for several years, but you never know."

"Okay, John," Scott said. He lifted Lyra's hand to wave. "Say bye-bye to Daddy."

"Bye-bye, Lyra," John said. "I'll call you later for your bedtime story." Clearly steeling himself for the pain of separation, John's face became professional again. "I'll keep you posted on the situation in Pakistan."

"F.A.B., John," Scott said.

"Thunderbird Five, out."

The live feed clicked back to the portrait. Tin-Tin placed Adam back on the ground again and stroked Lyra's head as she gave a tiny whimper.

"It's alright, little one," she said. "Your daddy will be home in a few weeks." She looked at Scott. "Adam is the same when Alan is gone. He misses him terribly."

"I guess it's another occupational hazard of the job," Scott said, bouncing Lyra up and down to try to distract her. "Say, how about we get some cake?" he asked.

"That sounds like a plan," Tin-Tin said as she started to walk Adam towards the food-laden table. "Father really has outdone himself this time. How he manages to create such perfect little fondant figures, I'll never know."

"Dibs on the triceratops," Scott said, grinning.

 **~oOo~**

As soon as the live feed clicked off, John threw himself back into his work. It was the only way to handle the situation. _There's no point in crying over it_ , he thought. _That's life and that's the way it has to be!_

His five years of experience had prepared him well for the pain of separation from his daughter. More often than not, he had taken the lion's share of duty, and had volunteered to man the station for most birthdays and holidays – not necessarily through altruism, but for a desire not to listen to Alan complaining.

 _That's not really fair_ , he thought as he tuned his ears back to the band he had been monitoring. _Alan's just not the sort of person who does well in solitary situations. He's a sociable spud. I can't really blame him for that._

This was John's first stint of satellite duty since and in truth, he felt a little conflicted about it. _I love being back at work_ , he thought, _but I do miss Lyra a lot – more than I would have expected._ Images of a certain redheaded Irishman flashed through his mind. John felt his face colour. Lyra wasn't the only person he missed…

Difficult as it was to be separated from friends and family, there was still something reassuring about returning to active duty on Five. It felt as though a door had finally closed on his ordeal at the hands of Grace Thomas. Finally, his life had returned to normal. He chuckled at that. Or at least, as normal as could be expected. He wasn't fully healed – and part of him suspected that after such extreme trauma, he would never truly be the same again – but he had recovered enough to function normally, and best of all, to be trusted to do his job again. _I know Father was nervous about my return to Five_ , he thought, _but hopefully now he sees that I'm not going to fall apart at the seams. Sometimes, you just have to bit the bullet and get on with life_.

All was quiet for a few hours, and John started to consider a trip to the galley for some food. Just at that moment, the worst happened. The threat of an earthquake in Pakistan became a disastrous reality.

"Wow, that's a doozy," John thought as he watched the seismograph readouts.

Within five minutes, he received the call.

" _Calling International Rescue_!"

 _I knew it_ , John thought as he picked up his mic. _That earthquake is bound to have caused a disaster_.

"This is International Rescue, receiving you, strength four," he said. "Go ahead."

" _Keya ap meyrey meded ker seketai heyne_? Help us, please!"

 _That's Urdu,_ John thought. _Definitely the earthquake in Pakistan._

"What is your situation, please?" he asked.

The harried voice responded again. It was a government official based in the city of Muzaffarabad, whose voice trembled as he relayed information about the disaster.

"Understood, Muzaffarabad," John said, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. "We'll be with you as soon as we can. I will relay further information when I have it. Please stand by."

" _Shukriya_ , International Rescue," the man said. "We await your response."

John's movements were fluid and determined as he called up a new comm. channel.

"Base from Thunderbird Five, come in please."

After a beat, his father's face appeared on the viewscreen.

"What's the situation, John?"

"I mentioned earlier that I was monitoring seismic activity in Pakistan, Father," he said. "Well, a quake has struck. Initial readings of about 7.9 on the Richter scale. Two hospitals have collapsed – including a specialist children's cardiac clinic. Many patients are trapped in the rubble. They have crews moving in but they're afraid their equipment just won't be able to get through in time to save the critical patients. We've been asked to assist."

Jeff nodded, his face hard.

"Okay, John. Tell them we're on the way. I'll muster the crew."

"F.A.B., Father," John said. "I suggest bringing the D.O.M.O. and Firefly. It sounds bad."

"Noted, Thunderbird Five. Get in touch with Scott and Virgil once they're airborne. Base out."

John switched channels to return back to the government official who had called for help.

"Muzaffarabad, this is International Rescue. Don't panic. Help is on the way!"


	2. Chapter 2

For the first time ever, all the seats in Thunderbird Two were full. As Virgil brought his huge craft in for landing, he shook his head. During the journey, the chatter between Gordon, Alan, Matthew and Elijah had been unending.

"Make sure you keep your faces cut and bruise free, fellas," Alan said. "I don't want you ruining my wedding photos."

"Oh yeah?" Gordon asked. "If you're not careful, you'll be ruining them yourself with a shiner – maybe even two!"

Virgil looked over his shoulder to see Gordon raising his fists in a mock threat. Alan's response was to roll his eyes.

"Ha-ha," he said.

"Alright, alright," Virgil interjected before Gordon could respond. "We're here. Base from Thunderbird Two. We have arrived at danger zone. Pod vehicles will be deployed in two minutes."

" _F.A.B., Thunderbird Two_ ," Jeff said. " _Keep in touch_."

There was a chorus of clicks as the crew unbuckled themselves. Virgil stood, planting his hands on his hips.

"Okay, listen up," he said. "Matthew and Gordon, I want you in the Firefly. Alan, you'll take the D.O.M.O. Scott, Elijah and I will go in once Firefly has cleared a way through for us. Understood?"

"F.A.B.!"

"Let's get to it, then!"

With that, the crew scrambled, leaving only Elijah behind. Virgil sat back down to raise Two's hydraulic legs, allowing the pod vehicles to trundle outwards.

"Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Two," he said as he heard the tell-tale clunk of the pod door opening. "The crew are on the way."

" _Right, Virgil_ ," Scott said. " _I've liaised with the ground crew here. They've got a lot of the recovery under control, but it's that cardiac unit that's the trouble. They couldn't get everyone evacuated in time. There are some very sick kids in there, some of whom were due to have surgery today. We need to get them out of there – and fast_."

"Understood, Scott."

Virgil stood and steeled his resolve. _I don't want a little kid's death on my conscience,_ he thought. He looked at Elijah, who nodded, seeming to read his mind.

Without another word, they went to work.

 **~oOo~**

"Some heat!" Gordon said.

"You're not wrong there, son," Matthew replied.

Gordon cast the other man a sidelong glance.

"Try not to put Firefly on her side this time, will you?" he asked.

Through their suit communicators, he heard Matthew's groan loud and clear.

"Honestly, a guy is in an explosion one time, and the he never hears the end of it."

The two men shared a brief chuckle, but then it was back to work. Matthew was operating the forward mounted nitroglycerine cannon as they pressed forward towards the destroyed clinic. Gordon took the controls of the rear mounted foam gun, extinguishing smaller fires as they went by.

"Firing shell," Matthew said.

There was a dull _boom_ as the nitroglycerine-filled capsule shot forward. Gordon watched as it struck the base of the fire and within a second, the blaze was licked.

"Direct hit!" Matthew said. "I think we've got her now."

" _Well done, Firefly_ ," Scott said over the comm. " _Now clear that debris back so we can get in there with the_ _oxyhydnite cutters._ "

"F.A.B."

"You heard the man," Gordon said, making a grand gesture with his hand. "Let's clear the way for the king and queen of International Rescue."

" _The comm is still on, genius_ ," Virgil said. " _And I'm not even going to go down the road of who's the king and who's the queen_."

"Well, we all know that the queen is-" Matthew started, his mouth twitching in a mischievous grin.

He was quickly cut off.

" _Don't. Even. Think about it_ ," Elijah ground out.

"Right-o," Matthew said, stifling a giggle. "Mouth closed, mind on the job, before I get murdered."

" _Wise_ ," Scott said. " _Now hurry it up._ "

As they approached the smoldering remains of what was once a bustling children's clinic, the Firefly's Cahelium blade made short work of the rubble.

"It doesn't look like the debris itself is smouldering," Matthew said. "Even so, we should put in a few ventilation holes – just to be on the safe side."

"And speaking of safe sides," Gordon said, standing up to peer out of the reinforced visor, "I don't like the look of that half-demolished building to the right. D.O.M.O. from Firefly."

" _D.O.M.O. here_ ," Alan replied.

"Have you finished up at the autopark?" Gordon asked.

" _I have. It's been evacuated. I can let go of the wall now_."

"Good, because we need you here. There's a building that might collapse right on top of the clinic. Get over here as quick as you can."

" _I'm on my way_ ," Alan replied.

Pulling the Firefly up a little distance from the remains of the building, Matthew unbuckled his restraints and stood.

"C'mon," he said. "We'll get the boring equipment ready while he's on the way."

Nodding, Gordon joined him as they extracted the specialist power tools they needed to cut through the debris.

When they hopped down from Firefly, the D.O.M.O. was trundling towards them and Scott, Virgil and Elijah had arrived on hoverbikes.

"Okay," Scott said, vaulting off his bike. "We've mapped out the most likely location for survivors." He gestured towards the debris. "There's a small unit that didn't get evacuated in time, located to the left. We'll start there."

He was going to say more, but his words were drowned out as Alan trundled past in the D.O.M.O., heading for the craggy maw that was once a building.

"Once Alan's secured that wall," he continued as soon as he could be heard, "Gordon and Matthew will put vents in. Once we know there's no danger from further fire, Virgil and I will cut our way in. Elijah, you'll follow to provide medical support. Understood?" He waited for the nods. "Okay. Alan, how are you doing?"

" _Attaching the suction arms now_ ," he said. " _You should be good to go_."

"Alright," Scott said. "Let's move!"

 **~oOo~**

It all came back so easily. John felt as though he had never been away. He was listening in on the rescue and simultaneously helping to co-ordinate the civil recovery operation (since he had eyes on the whole operation, it made sense). It was all so natural. It was all so right.

It was strange to think that twelve months before, he had still been holed up in an English farmhouse, convinced that he would never make it out alive.

" _Okay, we're going in_ ," Scott said, his voice cutting through John's thoughts. " _How are those thermal readings looking, John_?"

With nimble fingers, John brought up the readouts.

"Internal temperature is around seventy Fahrenheit," he said. "There's no indication of any danger from fire inside."

" _Good to hear_ ," Scott said. " _Now let's hope that's not the end of the good news_."

John listened as the crew ventured into what remained of the building. From their description, it sounded post-apocalyptic. The body count was three before they made it into the first ward. _My God,_ John thought. _All those people, dead because they wouldn't leave the kids_. Before he could stop the image from forming in his mind, he was plagued by the thought of tiny Lyra, lying prone and face down in the dirt. _Stop it_ , he thought.

And then he heard something over the comm. that chased all other thoughts away.

"Hold it, guys," he said, leaning towards the speakers. "Can you hear that?"

" _Yeah_ ," Virgil said. " _I can hear a voice – but I don't know what it's saying. It's not in English._ "

"Move towards it and I'll translate," John said.

Soon enough, the words – spoken in a tiny voice – became clear.

" _Mujhay aap kee madad kee zarurat hay_!"

"It's someone calling for help," John said. "Sounds like a kid."

The crew followed the voice. John heard the creak and hiss of an oxyhydnite flame as they started cutting through something – likely a wall. Within minutes, they reached their quarry.

" _It's a young male_ ," Elijah said. John heard the scuffle of his knees as they hit the dirt. " _Approximately nine years old. John, can you translate for me? Ask if he speaks English_."

" _Assalam 'alaykum_ ," John said, hoping his voice carried well enough via the communicator watches. " _Kiya aap angrezi boltay haen_?"

"He's shaking his head, John," Elijah said. "I assume that means he can't. Tell him my name and ask his."

" _Mera naam Elijah hay_ ," John said. "Apka nam kya hai?"

" _N…Nathar_ ," the strained voice answered.

"His name's Nathar," John said.

"Okay, Nathar," said Elijah. "Let's see if we can get you out of here in one piece."

There was more scuffling on the comm. A dull pain throbbed in John's skull, and it was nothing to do with a headache. It was a feeling of…impotence. _I wish I could be there to speak to the kid in person_ , he thought. _He must be terrified. Probably doesn't even know where my voice is coming from._

" _Virgil and I are going to keep looking_ ," Scott said, " _see if we can find any more survivors._ "

Two sets of footsteps made off, and John leaned forward, clutching his mic.

Much of what Nathar was saying was muffled and stilted, but the words _dardh_ and _takleef_ rang through loud and clear. Pain. Discomfort. The terror in the little voice was like a knife in his stomach. Every syllable drove it a little deeper. Even so, John tried to be as reassuring as he could – or at least, as reassuring as a distant voice could be.

" _BP is 130 systolic, 90 diastolic_ ," Elijah said.

He didn't need to say it; his tone conveyed it all: _This is not good._

"You need to get him out of there, fast," John said. "I'll call in Gordon with one of the hover stretchers."

" _Thanks, Thunderbird Five_ ," Elijah said. " _We need-_ "

A strangled gasp of pain cut off his words. John heard the portable medical monitor go wild with high pitched beeps and cries.

" _Dammit, cardiac arrest_!" said Elijah.

"Gordon, get your butt in there, now!" John said. "Bring a stretcher. We need to get this kid out."

" _F.A.B.!_ "

John tried his best to give some kind of comfort to the boy. _Hang in there, kid. Hang in there!_ When the child spoke again, it all but broke his heart.

" _Mujhay…samaj naheen…aaee…_ "

The words, spoken in such a tiny voice, cut deeply. " _I don't understand…_ " he had said. _Neither do I, kid_ , John thought. _Neither do I._

After that last syllable, the medical monitor screeched and then sounded out a long, flat note.

" _I've lost the pulse_ ," Elijah said. " _He's not breathing. Starting CPR_."

And for the next twenty minutes, all John could do was listen as Elijah pumped the child's chest, even as Matthew and Gordon got him on the stretcher, even as they transported him out.

He sounded as though he would have kept going forever. Indeed, he only stopped when one of the local relief doctors told him to stop.

"He's gone," the woman said. "There's nothing more you can do for him."

There was a pause. Then John heard the tell-tale snap of the removal of latex gloves.

"Okay, Thunderbird Five," Elijah said. "I'm going back in."

He sounded every inch the consummate professional, so John responded in kind.

"F.A.B.," he said. "I'll be here."

 **~oOo~**

By the time the rescue was over, evening was stretching out across Tracy Island. Up on Five, the lighting changed to a more muted haze, rather than the harsh fluorescence of the daytime cycle. John padded out of his sleeping quarters in bare feet, clad in a pair of pyjama bottoms and _Old Faithful_ , an ancient World Space Association t-shirt that had belonged to his father.

Earlier, he had made his nightly call to Lyra, reading her one of the stories from 'Goodnight Stars' again. He kept the board book on his bedside table, so it was always ready for her bedtime routine. His father had agreed to let him call down each night – rescues permitting – to read to Lyra, trying to keep some sense of continuity for her. _It can't be easy_ , John thought. _Sometimes daddy disappears and she doesn't have a clue why._ He gave a soft laugh. _I guess I know that it's not easy. When Dad was off with the WSA for extended periods, it was hard to understand_.

John disappeared into the galley to make a late night cup of tea, before returning to his sleeping quarters and settling down in bed. There was another call he wanted to make – or rather, needed to make.

He took off his watch communicator and propped it up with the 'Goodnight Stars' book.

"Elijah from John," he said. "Do you read me?"

After a moment came the sarcastic response.

"I can't read you," Elijah said. "You're not a book. But I can hear you."

John shook his head and rolled his eyes. But his smile faded.

"How are you holding up?" he asked.

In true Elijah fashion, he merely shrugged.

"I'm fine," he said. "Sometimes things just don't work out the way you want them to."

John nodded. There was something in Elijah's tone that belied his blasé words.

"Poor kid," he said. "At least you know you did the best you could."

"Yeah…" Elijah paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. "My shoulders are paying for it now, though," he said. "I could use a back rub."

"Can you wait three weeks?" John asked.

Elijah managed to crack a weak smile at that.

"I don't have much of a choice." He sat back and ran a hand through his hair. "Miss you."

"I miss you too," John said.

For a little while, they floated off into comfortable conversation. Eventually, Elijah yawned one too many times and John shook his head.

"Alright, time for bed," he said.

"I guess so," Elijah replied. He fixed John with a look that would have been stern if it hadn't been for his sleepy eyes. "Are you okay up there?"

"I'm fine," John said. "Feels good to be back at work."

"Good," Elijah said, before yawning again. "Okay, definitely time to go. Talk to you later, okay?"

"Goodnight, Eli," John said.

"Night, Johnny."

With that, John cut the comm line, grabbed his tea and took a sip. It was lukewarm now, so he downed it in one.

The two men didn't say 'I love you' much. Why would they? Neither found it necessary to state the obvious.

Reaching for his data tablet, John clicked back to his reading app. Bringing up the last page of the novel he had been reading, he settled down for the evening.

Within minutes, he was out cold.

 **~oOo~**

 _Mujhay aap kee madad kee zarurat hay_ – I need help, please!

 _Assalam 'alaykum._ – Hello.

 _Kiya aap angrezi boltay haen?_ – Do you speak English?

 _Mera naam Elijah hay._ – My name is Elijah.

 _Apka nam kya hai?_ – What is your name?

 _Mujhay samaj naheen aaee._ \- I don't understand.


	3. Chapter 3

Scott watched as Jeff plucked the glasses from his nose, gave them a cursory wipe, then perched them back in place. They were holed up in the office, Jeff enthroned behind his broad desk. Its surface was worn by years of paperwork and plans. It was on that very desk that the idea for International Rescue was conceived.

"Relax, Dad," Scott said. "We've gone over the plans a hundred times. Penelope has done every background check she can possibly do."

"I know all that, Scott," Jeff said, glancing up at his eldest, who was perched on the edge of his desk. "We've taken every conceivable precaution with this plan. That doesn't stop me feeling uneasy, though."

Jeff rubbed his chin, a day's worth of stubble scratching against his fingertips. The sun was setting, throwing a thin blanket of amber across the room.

Crossing his arms, Scott cocked his head to the side.

"Shall we go through everything one more time, Father? Will that ease your mind at all?"

Jeff gestured for Scott to take a seat.

"It might," he said, "and then again, it might not. Either way, it won't do any harm."

And so, the Tracy patriarch and his first-born began the long trawl through the plans for Alan and Tin-Tin's wedding. As he flicked through the data pad, Scott couldn't help but shake his head. The people stressing out over the planning should have been the bride and groom. However, due to their desire for the ceremony to take place on the island, things were a little more complicated than your average nuptials.

First and foremost, Jeff had hammered out a plan for keeping International Rescue operative whilst allowing as many people as possible to attend the ceremony. Five would run on its automatic protocol and the Thunderbird craft would be transported to Mateo Island, with a skeleton crew of just Matthew, Elijah, and – curiously, as far as Scott was concerned – Brains.

The speed at which the scientist had volunteered to miss the wedding had set Scott's teeth on edge. Brains' affection for Tin-Tin was no secret but Scott had still been surprised that he was willing to miss the wedding. _I guess it's just too much for him to bear_ , Scott thought. _I can't imagine seeing the woman I love on the arm of another man – never mind marrying him!_

Something else that didn't sit right with him was the idea of leaving One in someone else's hands. Oh, the twins were capable enough with all of the craft but Scott knew that capable wasn't always enough when it came to rescues. If the gods deigned to smile on them on the wedding day, there would be no emergencies on the fateful day – and thus, no problems.

The reason for the relocation was simple: Operation Cover-Up just wasn't going to cut it with a small army of staff invading Tracy Island. With a grin, he recalled the incident with Tim Casey. A water mamba was a good enough excuse to distract one person but it would be useless against ten.

Scott scrolled to another document on the tablet and pressed his lips into a frown. Ten strangers on the island. It was the bare minimum of people required to run the day. He glanced up at his father, watching the crease deepen between his eyebrows. They had taken every possible precaution to guard against danger. Still, the situation was weighing heavy on his father's mind.

"It'll be fine, Dad," Scott said as they rounded off their recap.

"I know, son," Jeff said, removing his glasses again. This time he set them down and rubbed his temples. "I'm happy to indulge Tin-Tin – Lord knows, she deserves to have the wedding she wants. And it does save us a lot of hassle. It would be far more of a logistical headache to transport the entire family elsewhere. And at least, in this circumstance, if there is a problem, Mateo Island is only sixty miles away."

He pushed his chair back, rose and reached for the crystal decanter of whiskey. He tilted the bottle at Scott in offering, who nodded.

"I guess we just need to hope that no one needs International Rescue's help on Alan and Tin-Tin's big day," Scott said, watching his father pour one finger into each glass. "Everything will go off without a hitch, I'm sure."

Accepting the etched tumbler with thanks, Scott swirled the amber liquid around before taking a sip. He closed his eyes to help savour the peaty taste.

"We can only hope it all goes well," Jeff said, taking a sip of his own drink, then glancing at the calendar that was pinned by his desk. "T-minus three weeks to go. The suits have arrived and as far as I know, your grandmother has put the finishing touches on Tin-Tin's dress. Everything else will arrive on the day."

Scott crossed his legs and relaxed back into the chair, rolling the tension out of his neck.

"You know, one thing I still don't get is why they agreed to let Gordon officiate the ceremony."

At that, Jeff rolled his eyes, though there was a glint of affection in them.

"I think it may have started off as an offhand comment that Gordon picked up and ran with. He has his certification as a celebrant now and the paperwork is in order for Tracy Island to be used as a marriage venue."

Scott chuckled.

"Well, if International Rescue ever folds, at least we can go into the wedding business."

Jeff joined in with his son's laughter and then downed the rest of his drink.

"Heaven forbid," he said. "Have you written your best man's speech yet?"

Scott shook his head.

"It's not quite finished," he said. "There's just such a huge selection of embarrassing stories to choose from. It's hard narrowing it down. How's the father of the groom speech coming?"

Jeff set his glass down and licked his lips.

"Much the same," he said. "I want to see how many times I can mention the Colorado University explosions before Alan goes red as a beet."

They laughed for a moment, until Jeff's attention was diverted to a picture on the wall. Scott followed his father's eye line and gave a lopsided smile.

Cradled in a gilt silver frame, the glass polished within an inch of its life, was the last photograph ever taken of Jeff and Lucille. They had been at a charity ball, though the picture was snapped as the evening had wound down. Jeff's bow tie was undone and hanging loosely around his neck. Lucille's hair was hanging in dark brown waves around her shoulders, a far cry from the efficient bun she usually kept it in.

The thing that Scott loved about the photo most was not that it was the last snapshot of his parents' marriage. It was the fact they looked so unashamedly _happy_.

"I know I say this a lot," Jeff said, his voice soft, "but I wish your mother was here to see all of this. Tin-Tin and Alan getting married, and two beautiful grandchildren already." His eyes took on a doleful sheen for the briefest of moments. "She would have loved it all."

Scott stood and went to the decanter, pouring another drink for both of them. Jeff hesitated before he took the glass. Scott raised his and gestured to the picture.

"To true love and happiness," he said.

Jeff echoed the sentiment and took a drink. Scott cocked his head to one side and grinned.

"Y'know, I think I've just figured out the perfect way to end my speech."

"I think you're right there, son," Jeff said, his face pained with the gold of the setting sun, "I think you're right."

 **~oOo~**

It was all coming together. It was simple, really. Far simpler than one would have expected. You just needed enough distance, enough perspective, to see the big picture.

And oh, had she seen the big picture.

The woman stood, framed by a sweeping hotel window, looking down at the streets of downtown Wellington. As the day wound down into evening and the street lights began to come on, appearing like stars in an asphalt sky, she watched as the innocents went about their business.

Such simple dreams. Such simple desires. She smiled.

There was nothing simple about _her_ dreams or desires. _And why should there be?_ she thought. _I grew up in poverty, with no one who gave a damn about me except my dear Papa. Why shouldn't I want a taste of the better things in life?_

The woman shifted her weight onto one leg, easing the pressure on her other foot. She was used to wearing heels. Even so, today had been a very long day of waiting.

Papa was long gone. He had died in much the same squalor as he always lived, half-starved in a Filipino gutter. The woman raised her chin in a silent toast to her dead father. _I made a promise to you that I would raise myself out of that mess_ , she thought. _And, Papa, after this job, the gutter will be a long-distant memory. I promise_.

Even in 2070, the story was the same. The rich got richer and the poor got poorer. It seemed to be the way the world worked.

Well, for Malaya Ramos, that simply wasn't good enough, and it hadn't been since she was orphaned at sixteen. At that point, when God had shit on her in as many ways as possible, she decided to start making her way in life, in whatever manner was necessary.

It started with siphoning off fruit and vegetables from the market she worked at. And now, it was about to end with the most costly theft the world had ever seen.

There was a knock at the apartment door. Malaya turned and ran a hand through her long hair, adjusting the flower that say behind her left ear. She adjusted a few other attributes as well – some people were so easy to manipulate – and strode to the door, heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

After one last peek in the mirror, she opened the door.

"Please, come in," she said, taking her visitor by the hand. "I trust everything went well today?"

The petite blonde woman grinned and blushed as she allowed herself to be led to the couch.

"The paperwork has been signed and sealed," she said. "The business is officially yours – well, via a few offshore corporations, of course."

"Excellent," Malaya said, sitting beside the woman and pushing the hair back from her face. "You've done your job perfectly."

The blonde, still dressed in the tell-tale suit of a lawyer, ducked her head and giggled. It took all of Malaya's will not to vomit into her mouth. _Idiot_.

"Anything for you, Malaya," the woman said.

Tracing her fingers up the curve of the other woman's breast, Malaya gave her a saccharine smile.

"There's one more thing I need you to do for me," she said.

"Anything," the other woman breathed.

Malaya kept the smile on her face and cupped the woman's chin in her hand.

"I need you to die."

Before she had time to react, Malaya already had her hands around the other woman's neck.

It didn't take long.

Once the deed was done, it was time to pack up and go. Malaya stood and walked away from the body without a single backwards glance. The lawyer had served her purpose, she thought as she started wiping down the surfaces, erasing any evidence that she had ever been there.

The lawyer was no longer needed. She probably didn't need to die. Still, there had been a possibility she might have blown the lid off her plan. But who is more silent than the dead?

Malaya opened her suitcase and pulled out her alternative outfit. She whipped the wig from her head, revealing her cropped head of black hair, and began to undress. Within a few minutes, she was a changed person – quite literally.

When she looked in the mirror, it was no longer a woman who stared back at her. Instead, a dashing young man was grinning through the glass, dapper in a hand-tailored suit. No one would ever guess it was the same woman who had stood there minutes before.

That was the trick, she thought as she gathered the last of her belongings. Why be one person when you can be many? By the time police were chasing the lawyer's killer, that woman would be long gone. Malaya could stride past the reception desk with her head held high and no one would ever suspect that _he_ was the woman who had just throttled an unsuspecting victim.

Zipping up her bag, Malaya took one last glance at the slack-jawed blonde lying dead on the couch, a circlet of purple blooming on her pale throat. It was unfortunate, of course, but ultimately necessary. As soon as she left the room, Malaya would never turn back. She was on the way up; she would never need to look down again.

Because today, she had acquired a company that would lead her to immense fortune.

For Malaya had been in England, working for some…unsavoury characters, gathering intelligence from the police. She had followed the story of an American billionaire's son, kidnapped from the side of the road.

Eventually, he had escaped.

And had been aided by International Rescue.

Through a series of bribes and liaisons – that was her job, after all – she had discovered the meaty fact that the young man had been _embraced_ by the rescue crew, as if he were one of their own. And, once she had snagged onto that fact, it hadn't taken long at all for the whole story to start to unravel.

Jeff Tracy had the time, the fortune, and perhaps even the motive, to run International Rescue. This much had been speculated for some time. But now she had proof – or at least, as close to prove as you could get.

A little espionage here, a little bribery there – with a dash of murder when necessary. Now, she was her own boss with her own plans.

And she had just bought the company that was about to facilitate Jeff Tracy's son's wedding.

She pulled on a pair of calf-skin gloves and left the hotel room, leaving no trace of herself behind.

She nodded at the front of house staff as she left, smiling as the door was opened for her.

In a few weeks, she would set her feet on Tracy Island and, while they were at their most vulnerable, she would strike.

Simple dreams. Simple desires.


	4. Chapter 4

"Alright, Tin-Tin," Grandma Tracy said. "You can open your eyes now."

Feeling a thousand butterflies swirl in her stomach, Tin-Tin did as she was told. When she saw the finished product, her eyes filled with tears.

"Oh, Grandma Tracy. It's _perfect_."

Grinning at the compliment, Grandma reached up and unhooked the dress from the wardrobe door.

"It won't be perfect until you're in it," she said. "Now come on. Let's see what it looks like."

It wasn't the first time Tin-Tin had slipped into her wedding dress. It was, however, the first time she done so when it was complete. As the older woman slid the back zip upwards, Tin-Tin found herself enveloped in the garment she was going to wear on the happiest day of her life.

And it felt glorious.

As she turned to the floor-length mirror, a mirror she had looked in so many times before, and she couldn't believe it. A few tears escaped down her pale cheek.

"Oh, Grandma," she said. "It's wonderful. It's everything I ever wanted."

"Well, I did my best for you, Tin-Tin," Grandma Tracy said, her own eyes growing red-rimmed. "You deserve the perfect day – and the perfect day needs the perfect dress."

As a wave of emotion hit Tin-Tin, she turned to embrace the woman who had made her dreams come true.

"Thank you so much."

"It was no trouble, child."

Tin-Tin turned back to the mirror and twirled around, taking in the back detail. Making the dress _had_ been trouble. Grandma Tracy had spent over a week perfecting the pattern, then months labouring at her sewing machine, trying to make sure the fit was just right. And it was.

The dress _was_ perfect.

From the delicate mandarin collar all the way down to the sweeping church train, it was everything Tin-Tin had ever hoped for. Around the short sleeves and above the sweetheart neckline was a beautiful design of lace and embroidery, offset by clear beading that glinted in the sunlight.

"How can I ever thank you?" Tin-Tin asked, turning to admire the white garment again.

Grandma Tracy adjusted the lacy shoulder cuffs and shook her head.

"Just be happy," she said. "That'll be thanks enough for me."

Tin-Tin pulled the other woman into a hug again and grinned.

"I will be, Grandma. I don't think I could be happier."

Grandma reached up to dust off her shoulders and then stepped back to appraise her work. Then she let her arms hang loosely at her sides and gave Tin-Tin a watery smile.

"Y'know, I never had any daughters – and Jeff wasn't exactly forthcoming with granddaughters, either! I didn't think I'd ever get the chance to make another wedding dress after my own. I just wanted to say thank you, Tin-Tin. Thank you for letting me be a part of your big day. Thanks for making an old woman happy."

Tin-Tin reached out to take Grandma Tracy's hands. Her skin was still soft, even though it was stretched over her bony digits. Nothing about the woman betrayed her real age.

"You shouldn't be thanking me," Tin-Tin said. "You've always treated me like I was part of the family." She gave a soft laugh. "And I recall that when a certain Eddie Houseman came to visit, you were the one who set me back on the right path."

Grandma coloured slightly at that. The deception over Alan's 'illness' hadn't taken long to come out.

"Well, I'm just glad you're happy. I know Alan is. Never seen him more besotted over someone than you, Tin-Tin. And now that you have that gorgeous little bundle of joy, he's over the moon."

It was true. Alan could sometimes be insensitive, even selfish, but since the arrival of Adam, he had certainly mellowed.

"Yes. I suppose when you have a child, you realise that everything can't be just about you any longer."

"Don't I know it!" Grandma said, slipping her hands from Tin-Tin's grip. "As soon as Jeff came along, our whole lives started to revolve around him. There's nothing like having a kid to teach you what the real priorities are in life." She crossed to Tin-Tin's dressing table and tapped the back of the chair. "Now, come sit and we'll see how the hairstyle you've picked out goes with the dress."

Tin-Tin followed and lowered herself onto the seat. As she looked in the mirror, watching as Grandma Tracy gathered hairpins and brushes and clamps, she knew that she was one of the luckiest girls in the world.

 **~oOo~**

"Two weeks, brother," Gordon said. "Just two weeks!"

Alan slid his sunglasses down his nose and peered over the top of the rims.

"I know, Gordon. And I couldn't be happier about it. I don't know why you keep going on about it, as if it's the end of the world or something."

Gordon stretched, his shoulders popping, before he flopped back down onto the sun lounger.

"I hope you're not going to try anything silly at the ceremony," Alan said, setting his book aside.

"If it was just you, Alan," Gordon said, "I would consider it. But I wouldn't do anything to ruin Tin-Tin's big day."

Alan rolled his eyes before pushing his sunglasses back in place.

"Oh, sure," he said. "At least I know where I stand in the popularity stakes."

Gordon shrugged and then turned his attention to Adam, who was sitting on a play mat, hugging his enormous plush dinosaur.

"You went down even more when this little guy arrived," he said. "I think I rank you…maybe seventh. Maybe even eighth, now."

"Ha-ha," Alan said.

There was a rumble in the distance. The sky had started to darken; now it had heralded its intentions.

"Storm coming in," Gordon said. "We'd better go inside."

"Yeah."

The two brothers gathered their belongings, Alan carrying Adam under his arm like a sack – the boy couldn't stop himself from giggling with delight – and they made it to the villa just as the heavens opened.

The rain came down like bullets, hammering against the windows and bouncing off the concrete patio. Alan set Adam onto his tiny feet and the toddler went to the window, fascinated by the change in weather.

"Dada, Dada," he said, pressing his chubby hands against the glass.

"That's a rainstorm, Adam," Alan said. "Can you say rainstorm?"

"Dada! Dada!"

Gordon grinned and crossed his arms. _So cute_ , he thought. _But not for me!_ He glanced down at his watch.

"Oh, shi-" At Alan's sharp gaze, he changed his words, "Oh, _crud_. I'm late. I'm meeting Matthew at the firing range."

Alan rolled his eyes again.

"What's the story this time?" he asked.

"Forty cal glocks," Gordon said. "I swear, one day I will beat him."

"He was in the _army_ ," Alan said.

"Oh yeah? Well I was in W.A.S.P., so I've had training too. Plus I spent a lot of time learning with Gramps on the farm."

As Adam nearly toppled, Alan's hands were out like a shot to steady the child.

"Maybe Matthew's just better than you," he said.

Gordon puffed up his chest and shook his head.

"I will not admit defeat!" he said, planting his hands on his hips and tilting his chin up.

"Ugh, get out of here," Alan said with a wave.

Gordon gave his brother a mock salute before he left.

"Aye-aye, cap'n!"

His sneakers squeaked on the hard floors as Gordon made his way down to the firing range. Matthew was already there, leaning up against the wall with his arms folded. As soon as he saw Gordon, his body language relaxed.

"Hey, bud!" he said. "I thought you weren't going to show. Maybe because you couldn't handle having your ass handed to you again."

Gordon tapped the code into the door's control panel. It beeped and there was a little clunk as the mechanism unlocked.

"Oh, no," he said as the door to the firing range slid open. "Today is going to be the day when _I_ hand you _your_ ass."

Matthew followed on his heels and they made their way to the armoury.

"Well," he said, looking over his own shoulder, "it is a great ass."

Gordon chuckled and tapped another security code into the gun safe's control panel. The firearms that adorned the wall behind the range were either decommissioned or were imitations. It might have been more convenient to have them on the wall, but it wasn't the safest procedure.

He hauled the reinforced door open.

"Forties today?" Matthew asked.

"Yup," Gordon said, reaching for the boxes that contained the handguns. "I'm hoping those thin wrists of yours won't be able to handle the recoil."

"Oh please," Matthew said. "I with in the 27th Infantry in Mali when I was eighteen, handling a Steyr AUG. What were you doing at eighteen?"

Gordon answered in his most deadpan tone.

"Training for the Olympics and then winning a gold medal."

Matthew blinked, opened his mouth and then shut it again.

"Okay, you win," he said at length.

After a beat, the two men burst into laughter.

"Let's face it," Gordon said, "we're both awesome."

"And we both have awesome asses," Matthew added.

"This is true. Now come on, let's get these babies loaded."

Before long, their magazines were full and they were ready to go.

"Eyes and ears," Gordon said, slipping his ear defenders in place. "Range is live."

They shot one-handed for a while at fifteen metres, both doing more or less as well as each other. When he was down to his last mag, Gordon signalled for Matthew's attention.

"How about we push things back a bit?" he asked. "Let's move the targets to 25."

"Sure," Matthew said.

Gordon punched a command into the automated system. Two fresh targets were attached and they were drawn back by the pulleys.

"First one to pip the ace is the winner," Matthew said, winking from behind his yellow lenses.

"You're on!"

Gordon's first few shots were off-target. Matthews's were closer and well-clustered, but still not dead-centre. _Okay, Tracy_ , Gordon thought, rolling out his shoulders and taking a deep breath. _You're down to your last three bullets. Make 'em count_.

He raised the gun from his stomach and stretched his arm out, leaning forward like his grandfather had taught him. _Lean into the shot, Gordon_ , Grant's voice said. _One breath in, one breath out. Don't wait too long. Line up your sights and take the shot…_

Gordon did. The first two clustered but they were too far left. Taking a deep breath, he aimed and pulled the trigger.

It took a moment for him to realise why Matthew had started to dance around like a lunatic. Then he looked closely. _Oh my God!_

"I did it! Alright!"

Matthew raised his hand for a high-five and Gordon acquiesced, pulling the other man in for a brief hug.

"Awesome shooting, son," Matthew said, hammering on Gordon's back. "That was a fantastic shot."

"I am the _best_ ," Gordon said.

"This calls for a celebration," said Matthew as they drew apart.

"Indeed. My brilliance should be sung from the rooftops, so that all my subjects may bask in my glory."

"What do you require, my liege?" Matthew asked, falling down on one knee in supplication.

"I desire beer and video games."

"It shall be done!"

 **~oOo~**

In space, it had been quiet all day. John stepped out of the shower, towelling off his hair. There hadn't been as much as a squeak of danger anywhere around the globe – at least, not anything so serious that International Rescue's services were required. _Very strange_ , John thought. _But it's not necessarily a bad thing. If the same can be said for Al and Tin-Tin's wedding day, we'll be laughing_.

He slipped into his sleepwear and went to the galley to make his usual evening cup of tea. He went back to bed, read for a while – keeping one ear tuned in to the bustle of the radio – and eventually dropped off to sleep.

How he wished he hadn't.

"John…"

He sat up like a lightning bolt but nothing felt right. It was as if everything was the wrong way round, like looking in a mirror.

"John…"

That voice. That icy tone. It was _her_.

"I'm dreaming," John said, whipping the covers from his body and planting his feet on the deck plating. "This isn't real."

"Oh, John, do you really think that matters?"

The lights flickered in an erratic dance with the darkness. Flashes of her silhouette appeared, leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed.

"Yes, it does matter," John said, raising himself up to his full height. "This isn't real. _You_ aren't real. The real Grace Thomas is rotting in prison."

She walked towards him, then, ever so slowly, each step carefully calculated.

"Don't be so naïve," she whispered, reaching up to cup his face.

He tried to step away, tried to run, but his feet were glued and his knees were locked. _This isn't real! This isn't happening!_

Grace brought her face up to his and pressed her lips against his ear.

"The real Grace Thomas is in here, John," she said, tapping his skull. "And she'll never leave you. Never, ever, ever…"

She started to lower her other hand. Revulsion rose in John's throat.

" _NO_!"

And with that he was sitting up in bed, his stomach lurching. He leaned over and retched onto the floor, his eyes stinging and streaming, his shoulders shaking.

"Fuck, fuck," he said, feeling sweat begin to cool on his forehead and across the back of his neck. "What the fuck…"

John allowed himself to slump sideways against the bulkhead, keeping his eyes wide open. He took in every detail. _I'm on Five_ , he thought. _I am quite literally thousands of miles away from the Earth's surface, thousands of miles away from her. Good Christ, that was intense… She can't get me. She's nowhere near me. It wasn't real…_

As his heartbeat began to slow and his stomach settled, John looked at the clock. _Three a.m._

Feeling a sudden need to escape his sleeping quarters, he grabbed his comm. watch, avoided the mess on the floor and fled to the main control room. He lurched across to the command chair and threw himself into it, his breath coming in shallow gasps. _I had hoped the nightmares were over_ , he thought. _Clearly they're not_.

Tears welled in his eyes. _I want to be better_ , he thought. _I don't want this to be the rest of my life._ He glanced down at his watch and, even with the immense weight of guilt that pressed on his shoulders, he opened a line.

"Elijah from John," he said, disgusted at the shake in his own voice. "Are you there?"

The screen was dark but he could hear murmuring. After a few seconds, a light switched on and Elijah's pale face appeared.

"John?" he asked. "What's wrong? What time is it?"

"It's three a.m., Eli," John said, the guilt weighing all the heavier. "I…I just needed someone to talk to for a minute."

Elijah rubbed his eyes with his free hand and frowned.

"Nightmare?" he asked, trying to smooth down his wayward bedhead.

"Yeah."

"You alright?"

"I…I think so," John replied. "It was just… It was really intense and I –" His voice caught. "I had hoped that I wouldn't have any more."

Elijah gave him a sympathetic smile.

"I know," he said. "It takes a while. And when you've been clear for a few weeks and then one hits, it feels like you've been run over by a truck."

John nodded. Then he sighed and looked away for a moment.

"Wish you were here," he said. "Or rather, I wish _I_ was _there_."

"Two weeks, Johnny," Elijah said. "Two weeks and you'll be home."

"Actually, it's only one week and five days," John said, a tiny smile creeping onto his face. "Sounds better that way."

Elijah nodded slowly.

"You're not wrong there. Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked.

John shook his head slowly.

"No, I don't think so," he said. "It's enough that I know you're here for me."

"Always."

John's smile widened at that. The pain of the nightmare seemed muted. _You might always be in my head, Grace_ , he thought, _but that doesn't mean you get to rule it_.


	5. Chapter 5

"Okay, Virgil," Gordon said. "I can see the sub. She's listing badly. I'm going to go EVA and retrieve the pilot."

" _F.A.B_.," Virgil replied.

Rising from his control seat, Gordon made his way to the airlock and out into the darkness of the ocean.

They had been called to the aid of a Submarine Service deep sea research vessel that had found itself in difficulty in the middle of the Pacific. Details had been sketchy but they did know that the pilot was running out of air. Gordon suspected the trouble was a mechanical fault. _There's nothing down here that could cause much damage,_ he thought. _Not to a reinforced deep-sea vessel, anyway_.

It was a one-man crew, so for the first time in several months, Gordon found himself sharing Thunderbird Two's cockpit with Virgil alone. It seemed strange now, far too quiet, despite the fact it had been the norm for five entire years. _I guess it's been easy to acclimatise to the new crew_.

Swimming the short distance across to the other vessel, Gordon peered inside. The pilot was slumped on the floor of the cabin, wearing oxygen tanks; he couldn't tell if she was breathing. _The ship's O2 must have run out_ , he thought. _Time's a'wastin', Gordon!_

"Trying the airlock now," he said.

Thankfully, it opened easily enough. He allowed the water to cycle out again. _Come one, come on,_ he thought. _I need to get in there!_ As soon as he could, he burst into the cabin and fell on his knees at the woman's side. Her eyes were edging closed, her dark eyelashes brushing against her cheeks.

"Hey there," Gordon said, unhooking the emergency O2 tank from his back. "International Rescue at your service."

The woman tried to speak as Gordon affixed the fresh tank to her system; she gasped as oxygen rushed into her mask.

"Th-thank you," she said.

"Just doing my job, Lieutenant Xue," he said, for her name rank was displayed on her wetsuit. "Do you think you'll be able to swim?"

Taking a few deep breaths, she nodded.

"I-I think so."

"Alright. I'll be right here with you. Let's get out of here."

She stumbled to her feet but lingered behind.

"Isn't there any way to save the ship?" she asked.

Gordon shook his head.

"We're just here to get you out," he said. "The Service will send a recovery crew later. They just couldn't get here in limited time you had left on a leaky O2 supply."

"Oh," she said, taking one step forward but then pausing.

"We need to go, Lieutenant," Gordon said. "I know you don't want to leave this tank behind but we have to go. That emergency air tank doesn't have much life."

"Alright," Xue said.

Finally, they were able to exit the stricken sub and head back to Thunderbird Four.

Within an hour, Two had rendezvoused with a Submarine Service carrier and dropped off a despondent Lieutenant Xue.

"Well, well, well," Virgil said as Gordon flopped down into the jump seat, hair still damp and stiff from the seawater, jutting out in all directions.

"What?" he asked.

"I caught a few of the looks she was throwing your way," Virgil said. "She certainly took a shine to you."

The ship shuddered as he fired the VTOL jets. Thunderbird Two rose from the carrier's flight deck with ease, heading back in the direction of their Pacific island home.

Gordon shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Well, Virg," he said. "Some guys just have it and some..." He allowed himself a dramatic pause before continuing, "don't."

Virgil looked over his shoulder and shook his head.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" he asked. "Are you implying that I _don't_ have 'it'?"

"Oh yes," Gordon said, snapping his fingers. Virgil had fallen right into his trap. "That's right. How is your lady friend, Virgil?"

There was a pause.

"If you mean Georgie," Virgil said, returning his attention to the controls, "yes, she is a lady and she is a friend, but that's it. We only ever met that one time."

"Shame they aren't coming for the wedding," Gordon said. "You could rekindle the romance."

Virgil snorted. He couldn't see it but he could certainly imagine his brother's obnoxious wink.

"You can't rekindle something that was never kindled in the first place," he said. "Still, she was nice. Had a good voice, too."

At that, the conversation fell flat and Gordon found himself staring out of the cockpit window. That was, until he remembered something of utmost importance. He sat up straight and glanced at his watch, which was still on island time. It was nearly midnight there.

"Hey, by the time we get back to the island, it'll be tomorrow."

"Yeah," Virgil said. "I guess so."

"And you know what that means?"

"Not really," Virgil said, a frown evident in his voice. "It's late and I haven't had enough coffee to play your games, so spit it out."

"My dear Virgil," Gordon said loftily, "what I am about to say will blow all of those cantankerous thoughts out of your head. Tomorrow, my dear, dear brother, is Alan's _bachelor party_."

"How on Earth could I have forgotten that?" Virgil asked, lightly smacking his forehead with the heel of one hand. "Of course it is!" He glanced over at Gordon, who was hovering at his shoulder. "Please tell me you have something good lined up."

Gordon rubbed his hands together and grinned with glee.

"Oh, brother mine, you will not be disappointed…"

 **~oOo~**

Malaya poured herself another cup of coffee and then returned to her seat. She stretched her long legs under the desk and sipped the bitter drink. Above her, a bare bulb thrummed. The office's single high window was coal black, not even starlight penetrating the cloudy gloom. Most of the light came from the glowing space heater she had set up beside the desk.

She had, via a dummy company account, rented out a run-down office warehouse in Lower Hutt. It was relatively secluded, with very little through-traffic. Near derelict as it was, it proved to be the perfect place to assemble her team.

Some of those she had contracted were men and women she had worked with before. It had, however, taken a lot of effort to put together a string quartet that could turn deadly at the drop of a hat. She had managed it, though, and now she had a team of nine mercenaries in her pocket, all ready to follow her to fortune.

There was a knock at the door. Malaya called for the person to enter and took another sip of her coffee. A middle-aged brunette walked in, clad in a crisp business suit.

"Ah, Lily," Malaya said, setting her mug down. "I hope you have good news for me."

Lily wasn't her real name. Malaya did know it; she knew all of their real names. Also, their home addresses, not to mention the home addresses of their parents or partners - and they knew it, too. However, they had all been introduced to each another by code names. Another safety precaution. It wasn't practical to have to murder _everyone_ who could possibly spill her secrets.

Malaya gestured for Lily to sit. She did so and passed a data tablet across the table.

"Coffee?" Malaya asked as she accepted the device.

"I'll pass," Lily said, her face impassive.

"Suit yourself."

For a few seconds, Malaya kept Lily's gaze, not looking at the tablet. She keep looking until Lily glanced away. Only then did Malaya start to scroll through the data.

"It's done," Lily said. "All the identification documents have been altered to show the faces of the team, as opposed to the real staff. The ID cards are printing now."

"Did you manage to reproduce the holographic security tag?" Malaya asked.

Lily plucked a plastic card from her jacket pocket and held it out. When Malaya took it and moved it in the light, the holographic strip shone clearly.

"Very good," she said. "I knew there was a reason I kept coming back to you."

Lily didn't smile. _Shame_ , Malaya thought. _If she did, it might lift her face a little_. There was nothing remarkable about Lily's appearance. She was neither beautiful nor striking, and her taste in clothing edged towards the frumpy side of middle age. However, none of that mattered. What did matter was her incredible mind and her talent for hacking into some of the most complex computer systems in the world.

"Well, this will be the last job," Lily said. "With the amount of money you'll be paying me, I'll be able to retire to my own little island in the South Pacific. Or maybe I'll just go back to Lithuania and buy my parents that mansion they always wanted."

Malaya's thoughts immediately flashed back to images of her father, lying prone and stiff, the hilt of a knife jutting out of his back.

"Do that," she said softly, shaking her head to clear away the darkness. "It's important to look after your kin."

She handed the fake identification card back to Lily.

"So," she said, thumbing through a few more of the screens, "it would seem that everything is in order. I've got the details of the Tracys' requirements and a company to sort it out – and they're all blissfully unaware that anything has changed. I have everyone I need. The plane has been chartered - Rose and Thorn will pilot. As soon as it's loaded, we'll discreetly dispose of the real wedding staff, hop in the plane, and then it's all down to you." Malaya leaned forward, planting her elbows in the desk and lacing her fingers together under her chin. "You won't let me down, will you, Lily?"

To her credit, Lily didn't flinch at the ice in her employer's tone.

"I never have," she said. "Whatever security systems they have in place, rest assured, I will get around them. My main concern is that while Orchid, Daisy, Tulip and Snapdragon can perform as a convincing string quartet, Rose, Thorn and Bluebell are hardly silver service waiters – nor do they have the faces or demeanour for the wedding industry. We might be rumbled before we're ready."

"I don't really care when they catch on to our plan," Malaya said, sitting back with a blasé flick of her hand. "I would be happy to exit the plane with a machine gun in my hand." She plucked up the coffee mug and rolled it between her palms. "If I have to kill them all, I'll kill them all." She threw Lily a vicious smile; the other woman didn't react. "However, their deaths are not what I want. What I want is their plans, their data, the blueprints to their machines. That information is worth billions - and I already have several potential buyers. And if they put up a fight?" With a sharp flick of her wrist, Malaya flung the mug against the wall. The shards clattered to the ground. "I'll put an end to their pathetic lives."

"You might start a war," Lily said, though there was no compassion in her voice. "There are some very dangerous people out there that would pay millions for their technology."

"That is exactly where our profit will come from," Malaya said. "But never worry about a way. You'll be safely holed up in your mansion in Lithuania."

"And where will you be?" Lily asked, one eyebrow raised.

"My dear," Malaya said, throwing her a malevolent grin, "I will be on top of the world."


	6. Chapter 6

The package was wrapped in an inconspicuous black plastic. As John lifted it, the material crinkled underneath his fingertips. Whatever was inside certainly wasn't hard. _It's some kind of clothing,_ John thought. That fact made him _very_ nervous. Whatever Gordon had planned, it involved _wearing_ something. _And god only knows what that might be!_

Not for the first time, John thanked his lucky stars that he was on Five and not back home. Today was the day of Alan's bachelor party - otherwise known as the day when all the men on the island were a little more on edge. _I bet Gordon is loving it,_ John thought. _Well, let him enjoy it. We won't see another Tracy marriage any time soon!_

Setting the package onto the bed again, John felt a flutter of affection. Gordon hadn't been obliged to include John in the festivities. It wasn't like he could join in the revelry from a million miles away. However, showing his golden heart, Gordon had snuck the package into John's bag, taping clear instructions to the front of it: _DO NOT OPEN UNTIL ALAN'S BACHELOR PARTY_. Giving the bag another squeeze, John grinned. _I'm terrified at what might await me... Well, I guess I'll have to wait and see!_

 **~oOo~**

Preparations on the island were well underway. Gordon put his hands on his hips and surveyed all the hard work. _Nice_!

The party was to start at the pool, with beer-marinated steaks and an endless supply of hamburgers on the grill. Scott had tried to claim the roll of grill master but was ousted by none other than his father. _I'm the father_ , he had said. _I'll man the grill._

And how could anyone disagree with that?

After food, they would retire to the lounge for poker – and _maybe_ even a few cigars.

The pool patio had been decorated with a Polynesian theme, with flower garlands and tiki torches galore. Kyrano was straightening one of the decorations when he caught sight of Gordon from the corner of his eye. He turned and gave a shallow bow.

"Ah, Master Gordon," he said. "I trust everything is to your satisfaction?"

Gordon crossed to the man and slung an arm around his shoulder.

"Kyrano, it's perfect." He paused and cocked his head to one side. "And you're sure you don't want to join us?"

Kyrano gave him a one-sided smile and tucked his hands inside his sleeves.

"I am sure. I do not believe it is wise for me to see the more... _debauched_ side of the man my daughter is to marry."

Gordon gave his shoulders a squeeze before releasing him.

"A fair concern," he said. "Thank you for all the effort."

Kyrano nodded his thanks.

"Whatever makes my daughter happy, makes me happy." He leaned in, giving Gordon a sharp stare. "I do trust, however, that there will be no _lewd_ entertainment, Master Gordon. Because that would not make my daughter happy, and thus, I would have to act."

When Kyrano got serious, he _really_ got serious. Gordon gulped.

"Worry not, my friend. There will be no lewdity, nor nudity. Besides," he added, shuddering, "my _dad_ will be there."

Kyrano nodded, his face returning to its usual state of repose.

"That is most reassuring," he said. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must attend to the food preparations."

He gave a little bow and Gordon saluted in return. Kyrano started the walk back to the villa and Gordon exhaled sharply.

"I'm glad I didn't try to smuggle a stripper in after all!"

 **~oOo~**

Virgil crossed his arms and stared at the package on his bed, so neatly wrapped in plastic. _DO NOT OPEN UNTIL INSTRUCTED!_ was scrawled across the note that accompanied it. _Gordon, Gordon,_ he thought. _What on earth are you making us do? Or rather, wear!_ For of course, Virgil had given the package a thorough squeeze and deduced that it was most certainly clothing. _Please don't let it be anything too embarrassing,_ he thought. _I want to be able to look my brothers - and Father! - in the eye again after this..._

He glanced down at his watch; it was just after six p.m.. The festivities were supposed to kick off around six thirty. _Whatever this is, Gordon needs to let us know soon._

At that, his watch bleeped.

"Gordon to all the manly revellers." The clock face gave way to a grinning Gordon. "It's time to open your little presents. And remember. You must comply! It's the rules!"

"Alright, Gords," Virgil said. He turned to the package and swallowed hard. "Time to find out just what the hell is in that thing."

When he opened it, he didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or punch Gordon in the face. _Or maybe do all three!_

Just as he wriggled into his...outfit, someone started hammering on his bedroom door.

"Virgil! Can you believe this? What has he got you wearing?"

At that, the door burst open and, ensconced in the frame, was...a giant chicken.

"Oh my god!" Virgil gasped out between chuckles. "What has he got _you_ wearing?"

Scott strode in and crossed his arms, feathers trailing from his elbows. It sent Virgil into another spasm of laughter that threatened to pull all his intercostal muscles.

"Yeah, yeah," Scott said, blowing the beaky hood out of his eyes. "Laugh it up, fuzz ball. What are you anyway? Chewbacca?"

Virgil did his best to straighten up and wiped away the tears that had streamed down his face - though, rather than doing so with his hand, he did it with a _paw._

"I think I'm a bear," he said.

That made Scott's face crinkle in disgust even more.

"Oh, great. You get to be a bear and I have to be a _damn chicken_! Gordon is playing a very dangerous game..."

At that, all Virgil could picture was Scott dressed as a chicken, singing _Dangerous Game._ It sent him into fits of giggles again.

"Oh my god, I can't breathe," he said, clutching at his stomach. "That's so good!"

"My g-goodness," said a new voice.

The two brothers turned to the door. A huge owl was staring back at them. Virgil narrowed his eyes,

"Brains? Is that you in there?"

The owl nodded. Brains pulled back the hood of his costume and gave them a wry smile.

"I am starting to b-believe," he said, "that there is a certain amount of symbolism behind these c-costume choices."

The chicken threw the owl a death glare.

"Don't say that," Scott said. "What the hell does a chicken represent?"

Brains ventured a little further into the room and adjusted his glasses, before clasping his winged hands and arms behind his back.

"W-well, Scott," he said. "Your costume appears to be, if one was to be specific, that of a _hen_."

Virgil guffawed again.

"A mother hen!" he said, slapping his bear paws on his knees. "Gordon's made you a mother hen!"

Scott's wings crumpled as he drew his hands into fists.

"I'll kill him. I will. He's sealed his own fate!" He made for the door. "Well, come on!" he said, giving them a be-winged gesture to follow. "You might want to say your last goodbyes, because Gordon is _dead!_ "

The owl, the chicken and the bear made a strange sight as they barrelled along the villa hallway, the chicken belting out, "Gordon!" at the top of his lungs. Virgil couldn't stop giggling at his older brother's fury, which only fuelled it more.

"Stop laughing!" Scott said. "At least you got something cool."

"What can I say?" Virgil asked. "I'm clearly cooler than thou."

The group ran through the lounge and exploded onto the balcony. Scott skidded to a stop, his eyes wide.

"What the hell is that?"

When Virgil looked, he had to pinch himself to ensure he wasn't dreaming.

There was a bald eagle cooking steaks on the grill.

"Is that... _Dad_?"

There was nothing he could do. Virgil dissolved into fits of glee again, sinking to his knees while desperately clinging on to the rail.

At that, even Scott had to grin.

"That. Is. _Priceless_!"

"Oh, m-my," Brains said, taking off his glasses to clean them with his feathers.

"Your eyes aren't deceiving you, Brains," Scott said. "That really is my father."

The eagle had noticed the laughter and raised a feathered arm, waving them down.

"How can we refuse?" Scott asked, his mood lightened considerably at the sight of their father.

As the men made their way down to the patio, two more figures appeared.

Or rather, two zebra.

"What the heck?" Virgil asked.

"Hey, lads," the zebra on the left said. The one on the right gave a little wave. "How are ye?"

Virgil placed his head in his paw and sighed.

"I can't say I've ever met one Irish zebra before, never mind two!"

The one on the right shrugged. The left one spoke.

"Well, you need to get yourself to Dublin Zoo then, lad."

Scott planted his hands on his hips and shook his head.

"So how are we supposed to tell you apart _now_?"

"It's easy," the one on the right said. "I'm white with black stripes -"

"- and I'm black with white stripes."

Scott closed his eyes for a moment.

"I think I'm just going to call you _Malijah_ from now on."

The zebra looked at one another, before giving identical shrugs.

"Suite yourself," the left one said.

"So," Virgil said, walking over to Jeff. "We have a hen, a bear, an owl, an eagle and two zebra. What next?"

Jeff gestured at the balcony with his burger flipper.

"I think we're about to find out."

Standing with his hands on the balcony rail was none other than Gordon - or rather, an enormous yellow _squid_.

"Gentlemen," he said grandly. "Thank you so much for acquiescing by wearing the outfits. May I now present to you our guest of honour for this evening."

He gave an elaborate flourish of his tentacle-hand but no one came forward.

"Gordon," they heard Alan say, "I'm not doing this."

"Hey!" Scott shouted. "The rest of us have made fools of ourselves, so now it's your turn! Even _Dad_ is wearing a costume."

"Indeed, son," Jeff added. "And whatever you're wearing, it can't be worse than Scott's."

"Traitor," Scott said, eyes narrowed.

Virgil tried to hold in a giggle as his father shrugged his shoulders and returned to barbecuing their dinner.

"Come on, Al!" Gordon said. "If you don't come out, I'll drag you out, kicking and _bleating_."

Virgil looked at Brains.

"Bleating?"

"Well, on the premise of symbolism," Brains said, "I can deduce only one thing. Alan's costume is that of..."

And then the youngest Tracy appeared on at the balcony rail. And Virgil _lost it._

"A lamb!"

Indeed, Alan was swaddled in a sheep costume. He even had a pink ribbon with a bell around his neck.

"I can't believe you've done this to me," Alan said as he was propelled down to the pool.

"Ah, come on," the squid said, tentacles streaming behind him as they descended. "It's just fun, Al."

Alan shook his head but stopped at the bottom of the stairway when he finally took in the sight in front of him.

"Dad? Is that you?"

Jeff raised his arms to show off his costume and smiled.

"Of course," Alan.

The youngest brother whirled around to face Gordon.

"Why does he get an eagle while I get a damn sheep?"

"Because," Gordon said, slinging an arm around Alan's shoulders to guide him to the group, "you are the baby, an innocent, so pure." He stopped when Virgil descended into giggles again. "But also, you are the first of us to enter the realm of marriage. Maybe you're even...a sacrificial lamb."

"I'll tell Tin-Tin you said that," Alan said. "And what about the rest of them?"

Gordon grabbed a beer from the cooler, opened it and pressed it into Alan's palm.

"Scott is a hen. A _mother hen_ , one might even say."

"One better not," Scott said, his tone venomous.

Gordon didn't skip a beat.

"Virg is a bear, so strong, so deadly... And I bet he'd make a great throw rug."

" _Hey_ ," Virgil groused.

"I am, of course, a squid."

"We all knew that already," Scott said.

"And Brains is an owl, symbol of wisdom."

Brains ducked his head in thanks.

"The twins are zebra, because, well - have you ever tried to tell two zebra apart? Impossible, just like them. And _Father,_ of course, great patriarch of our family, can only be represented by that magnificent symbol, the American bald eagle." Gordon shifted his eyes from side to side. "And also I was too afraid of offending him."

Jeff nodded sagely.

"Very wise, son," he said.

"But," Gordon said, clapping his hands together, "there is one costume we haven't seen yet. While he can't be here with us in person, he will be with us in spirit - or spirits, for those who are drinking." There was a collective groan at his awful pun. "So, without further ado. Gentlemen, lift up your watches. Thunderbird Five from base. Come in please."

After a beat, everyone's comm. watch lit up - not with the usual face of their distant space monitor. No, rather, they were greeted to a sight none had expected to see.

There was a panda on the screen.

"Thunderbird Five here," John said. "Have the festivities begun?"

At the sight of his quiet brother dressed as a panda, Virgil fell into a fit of laughter again, joined by the others.

"Oh my God," he wheezed, clutching his ribs, "that's perfect."

"Ah yes," Gordon said, "the elusive space panda. Symbolic of gentle strength and sensitivity."

Virgil managed to bring the watch back up in time to see John rolling his eyes.

"Uh huh," the panda said. "Well, Gords, I think you've outdone yourself."

There was a chorus of here-here, to which Gordon responded with a bow.

"Thank you, thank you," he said. Then he clapped his hands together. "Now, before Alan is joined to Tin-Tin in the state of matrimony, it is our duty to first destroy his liver in the state of inebriation." He passed around beers - some alcoholic, some not - and raised his own. Even John on Five had been sent a little non-alcoholic tipple for the toasts. "To Alan, the littlest Tracy, who at times frustrates and irritates -" Alan pulled a sour face at that. "- but, no matter what, is always our beloved brother. Here's to you, Al!"

"To Alan!"

The group brought their bottles together, sending a tinkling sound across the pool.

"And," Jeff said, raising his bottle again' "to a long and happy marriage. If you and Tin-Tin are half as happy as your mother and I were, you'll do alright."

"To a long and happy marriage," Gordon repeated.

The group drank, before Gordon set his bottle aside and rubbed his hands together.

"Alright," he said. "It's time to _party_!"


	7. Chapter 7

"Well, this is it, little brother!"

"Any last words?"

Alan crossed his arms and huffed out a breath, looking from Scott to Virgil and shaking his head.

"Yes, actually," he said. "Stop talking like it's the end of the world! I'm marrying _Tin-Tin_." His lips took on a bitter curl. "Maybe you're all just jealous that _I_ got her and _you_ didn't. Well, all except John, of course. But he's different."

Watching from a safe distance, sitting on the edge of Scott's bed – for they had been evicted from Alan and Tin-Tin's suite in favour of the bridal party – John raised his hands in supplication.

"You're not wrong, there."

Virgil slung an arm around Alan's neck and Scott moved in to deliver a trademark noogie.

"No! Not the hair!"

But Alan's cries were in vain. John chuckled. _Scott never misses_.

"We're only kidding," Virgil said, releasing Alan from the headlock.

"Yeah," said Scott, reaching out to fix Alan's hair – though the latter ducked from his reach. "We're really happy for you – for both of you."

Placated slightly, Alan disappeared into the _en suite_ to fix his hair. Scott looked over to John and rolled his eyes. John grinned.

"He's nervous," he said.

"I know," said Scott.

"I am not!"

At Alan's shout, the others shook their heads and chuckled.

The Tracy brothers were dressed in matching immaculate suits – including top hats and tails. Though of course, due to heat, the suits were made of light linen. To contrast with the darkness of the rest of their attire, each brother had a cravat that matched the colour of his sash. John looked down at the lilac around his throat. It had been Tin-Tin's idea – with a little prompting from Penelope.

"To bring a little of the 'family business' into our big day," she had said.

 _Well, Tin-Tin,_ John thought. _I think it's a great idea._

In fact, everything about the wedding preparations seemed to be a great idea. John had taken a walk earlier while the rest of his brothers had disappeared to Mateo with their various craft. Not long after, a small cargo plane had arrived. It was full to the brim with the décor and catering for the wedding. It had taken the small team all morning to set up.

On his walk, John had taken a sneak peek at Kyrano's garden, where the ceremony was to take place. A beautiful white wood wedding arch had been erected and chairs had been set out, complete with satin covers and damask sashes. Flower arrangements bloomed in bright colours. Every detail was thought out; every detail was _perfect_.

In fact, the only thing that wasn't perfect was the staff. One of them had almost growled at John when he showed his face in the garden. _Well, excuse me_ , he had thought. _It's my damn home!_ The string quartet had set up as well. _Sour quartet, more like._ None of them looked particularly happy to be there. _Never mind_ , thought John. _I guess they don't really matter anyway_.

Alan reappeared from his bathroom, hair sitting _just so_. He glanced at his watch; on impulse, John did the same. Two p.m. The ceremony was to begin at three.

"Boy, I hope there are no rescues," Alan said, crossing to his window to peer out across the sea. "I sure don't feel comfortable leaving all our equipment with Brains, Matthew and Elijah."

John rankled a little at that, though he knew he shouldn't. _They're not incompetent,_ he thought. Not for the first time, he felt a little pang of regret that Elijah wouldn't be there to celebrate with him. _Duty calls, I guess_.

"They twins are capable," Virgil said. "Though, I know what you mean. The idea of Thunderbird Two being flown by anyone else just doesn't feel right."

"The same with one," said Scott.

"And three."

John rolled his eyes and folded his arms.

"Come on, guys," he said. "I've spent five years relinquishing control of _my_ ship to _that one_." He jerked a thumb at Alan. "That is, when he doesn't come up with some excuse not to do his duty."

"Hey," Alan said, giving John an acidic look.

"My point is," John continued. "Everything will be fine. The boys know what they're doing, and in any case, Brains will keep them right. It's not like _he's_ a rookie."

"True, true," Scott said. "Still, I'm hoping that there'll be no emergency calls."

There was a knock on the door; the four brothers turned in unison.

"Come in," Alan said.

The door opened and in walked Jeff, resplendent in a matching suit to his sons', though his cravat was gold.

"How is everything in here?" he asked, closing the door behind him. "Holding up okay, Alan?"

"Oh, he's just fine, Dad," Virgil said. "Peachy, in fact."

"Is that so?" Jeff asked, walking over to stand between Scott and Virgil. "When I was about to marry your mother, I was terrified."

" _You_ , Dad?" Scott asked.

Jeff gave a gruff laugh and nodded.

"Yes, _me_. I really was terrified. Though I suppose, that didn't kick in until I was standing at the altar. There I was, wearing my WSA dress uniform and shaking like a leaf!" He laughed again. "I suppose, it didn't help that Father Flanagan leaned in and said, 'First comes love, second comes marriage – and you know what comes _third_ , don't you?' Although," Jeff said, one eyebrow raised, "I suppose you did things in your own order."

Alan flushed a deep red, all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Yeah, well," he started, but broke off. "Someone help me here, guys."

He was met with a wall of silence. Alan flushed even more, then pointed at John.

"I'm not the only one!" he said. " _He_ has a kid, too!"

Within a nanosecond, the good mood in the room disintegrated. Alan's face went pale and he raised his hands.

"John, I'm sorry. I didn't –"

John shook his head and stood, planting a hand on his brother's shoulder. Inside, he would have dearly loved to bring his fist down on the back of Alan's head. But, in the spirit of the day, he simply squeezed his shoulder instead. The others looked on, frozen as if time itself had stopped.

"It's okay, Al," John said. "I know you didn't mean anything by it. Let's forget it. We have other things to think about, right?"

Relief spread over Alan's face.

"Y-yeah," he said. "Not long now!"

Alan quickly ducked out of his brother's reach again, retreating in shame. Jeff shot John a sharp glance, though he simply waved it off.

"Don't worry," Virgil said, folding his arms. "Once the wedding photos have been taken, I'll dump him in the pool."

" _We'll_ dump him in the pool," Scott said.

John chuckled lightly, though inside his heart was still sore. _What a thing to say…_

"Just make sure I'm in earshot," John said. "I don't want to miss that. But, speaking of my child, I should go and take her out of Grandma's hands. I'll catch you guys down there."

Brothers and father bid farewell, and John went off in search of Lyra.

 **~oOo~**

"These people," Thorn said.

He made to spit on the grass but Rose grabbed his arm.

"Thorn, don't! You've almost given us away once already," Rose said. "Don't do it again. That's not the way we're supposed to behave."

Glancing down at his partner, Thorn gave her a deathly stare – not that the diminutive woman was intimidated.

"I just hate all this fancy shit," said Thorn, his London accent thick and sharp. "Gimme a pint and footie on the telly in my local over all this –" he made a sweeping gesture at the surroundings "—any day."

Rose rolled her eyes.

"I suppose that means it'll be a quickie in a registry office and then down the pub for us, then?"

Thorn snorted.

"As if I'd ever marry you, love."

Rose's face crumpled with fury and she punched Thorn in the arm. Hard.

" _Oi_!" he said, recoiling. "Who's breaking cover now?"

"Shut up, you drongos," Bluebell said as she straightened one of the chair covers. "We're supposed to be high-class attendants, not bar room brawlers."

"Aye," Thorn said, throwing Rose a filthy look as he rubbed his arm. "You're Australian. You'd know all about bar room brawls, wouldn't you?"

Bluebell retracted her hands from the chair cover and walked towards Thorn, her steps deliberate. When she was only a few meters away, she checked their surroundings, before hitching up her skirt. Underneath was a cord-wrapped combat knife with a blackened blade.

"Shut your fucking Pommy face," she said, low enough that her voice wouldn't carry. "I'd dearly love to cut a few _choice_ pieces from you – but I won't. I'm here to do a job and I want to get paid. I don't want you two ruining it with your squabbling." She smoothed down her skirt. "I'm going to go and check with Lily and Sunflower, see if they need any help with the food. _Don't_ do anything stupid."

Before Thorn could respond, Rose reached up and clamped a hand over his mouth.

"We won't," she said, standing on her tiptoes. "We want to get paid, too. We won't put a foot wrong."

Shaking her head in disgust, Bluebell turned on her heel and disappeared out of the garden.

"I'll cut a few _choice_ pieces from her when this is all over," Thorn said.

"Oh, stop it," said Rose.

From across the clearing came a sharp strike on a cello. Both Rose and Thorn's heads snapped around to see Orchid glaring at them from beneath her immaculately cut fringe.

"Both of you need to stop," she said. "I don't want to listen to you anymore."

At her side, Snapdragon tucked his viola under his chin and played a few notes.

"Indeed," he said. "I grow tired of your constant bickering."

"Now be quiet," Orchid said. "We need to practice."

At that, both she, Snapdragon, Daisy and Tulip took up their instruments and began to play. Thorn rolled his eyes and looked down at Rose.

"And none of that fancy music shit either."

All Rose could do was shake her head.

 **~oOo~**

In hadn't taken long for John to find his daughter. Lyra was safely in the arms of her great-grandmother, being merrily entertained by none other than one 'Nosey' Parker. Adam, too, was full of giggles.

"Hullo, Master John," Parker said. "You've got a fair and lively one, here."

John nodded and reached for Lyra. The little girl's face broke into a huge smile at the sight of her father.

"I know," he said, giving her a squeeze. "But I wouldn't trade her for the world."

Grandma Tracy was radiant in a teal floral print dress with matching heels.

"There's nothing quite like having children," she said. She cast Parker a curious look. "Do you ever regret not having a family, Parker?"

The butler thought for a moment before shaking his head.

"I can't say that h'ay do, ma'am," he said. "One supposes that one 'as never been in a position to 'ave children, what with my – err – _chequered_ past. And in h'any case," he said with a dry smile, "'er Ladyship h'is enough work for me."

Grandma Tracy chuckled at that and shook her head.

"Oh, Parker. You really are a character."

Then, she stood and smoothed down the front of her dress.

"Well, I'm going to go and check on the ladies," she said. "I can't allow Tin-Tin and Penelope to have _all_ the fun, after all."

"Quite right, ma'am," Parker said.

"Okay, Grandma," said John. "We'll look after the kids."

Lyra reached out to grab at his cravat; John gently pried her hand away, though her face curdled in disgust.

"Sorry, baby-mine," he said, "but Uncle Scott tied this for me and he won't be best pleased if you destroy it." John gave a quiet laugh. "Well, he won't be best pleased with me, anyway. He'd let you away with anything."

"Smitten, is he?" Parker asked.

John nodded and brought Lyra's hand up to kiss it. Her skin was delectably soft.

"You've never seen anyone _more_ smitten," John said. "She had him wrapped around her little finger from the first time he laid eyes on her."

There was a tug on John's leg. He looked down to see Adam with one fistful of his pants leg, and the other hand reaching up to him.

"Ja! Ja!"

John shook his head with a chuckle, before bending down to scoop up his nephew. Adam giggled anew and started babbling at Lyra again. Parker clasped his hands behind his back and smiled.

"H'if you don't mind my saying so, Master John, but fatherhood seems to suit you – in spite of the circumstances."

John gave a shrug – or at least, as close to a shrug as he could with his arms full of children.

"I guess you just have to deal with what life gives you," he said. "I didn't choose it, but I sure as hell would fight to the death to keep her, now."

"Quite right," Parker said. "Quite right."

At that, one of the hired wedding staff entered the lounge from the patio. She stopped briefly when she saw them, giving a curt nod before disappearing towards the kitchen. John saw a strange look cross Parker's face.

"What is it?" he asked.

Parker brought one hand up to grasp his chin as he thought.

"I know we did those checks some long time ago," he said, "but I don't recall seeing that face before. And h'ay have a famously good memory for faces."

John thought back to the venomous look one of the staff had given him earlier and frowned.

"Strange," he said.

"H'if you don't mind," Parker said, "I believe I shall do a little investigation. It's nothing, I'm sure. But just to be on the safe side…"

"Understood," John said. "Keep me updated if you find anything suspicious."

"Right-o," said Parker, before he followed in the woman's footsteps.

John was just about to go in search of his father when the man himself entered the lounge, a duckling line of sons behind him.

"What's up, Father?" John asked.

Jeff's face was pulled with worry. He looked around for any listening ears before he spoke.

"There's been an emergency call," he said.

John sucked a breath in through his teeth.

"Bad luck," he said.

"Right," Jeff replied. "There's been a volcanic eruption at Mount Merapi, on the border of Java and Indonesia. The pyroclastic flow has devastated a nearby village but, worse still, a team of volcanologists decided to head _towards_ the crater when an eruption was predicted, rather than away from it."

"Crazy fools," Scott said, shaking his head.

"Brains is maintaining constant radio contact with them from Thunderbird Two," Virgil said. He clenched his fists. "I sure wish this hadn't happened today."

"Who's flying Two?" John asked.

"Matthew," Virgil replied, "and he's been well-warned. When she's returned, she better not have so much as a scuff on her paintwork."

John shook his head; Alan crossed to him and plucked Adam from his arms. John nodded his thanks. _That kid is heavy!_

Sighing, for there was nothing he could do about the rescue situation, Jeff glanced at his watch.

"Well, boys – and girl," he said, reaching out to touch Lyra's cheek, "I think it's about time we took our positions. Tin-Tin will be down within ten minutes."

"Though, remember, Dad," Scott said. "The bride does have the prerogative to be late."

"How late was Mom for your wedding?" Virgil asked, the worry in his eyes replaced with gentle mirth.

"An hour!" Jeff said, his own face relaxing.

"Tin-Tin won't do that to me," Alan said. Then he paused and looked at each of the group in turn. "Will she?"

Jeff chuckled and clapped an arm around his youngest's shoulder.

"Who knows, Alan," he said. "All you need to do is make sure you're there, waiting for her."

Alan brought a hand up to briefly pat his father's and smiled as they started to head for the garden.

"Any last words of advice?" he asked.

"Well, son," Jeff said, "if you want a quiet life, always assume your wife is right. However, if you want an _interesting_ life, don't be afraid to fight your corner – because the making up is sublime. How do you think we ended up with five sons?"


	8. Chapter 8

Most of what they were doing was busy work. Still, they needed to keep the charade up for a little longer. Malaya checked on the food she was pretending to cook and shook her head. Their cover had almost been blown already. _That old woman is a menace_ , she thought. _If she wasn't so ancient, I would wring her neck_. There had been another attempted kitchen usurper as well, a man who wasn't just as old and had the appearance of a Malaysian. _He reminds me a little of my father_ , Malaya thought, _so I don't think I'll kill him – unless he provokes me, of course._

"Everything is ready," Lily said from across the room.

The other woman was dressed in the drab garb of the hired help, but strapped underneath her shirt was a computer tablet. That was the key to the whole game. _Unless, of course, someone squeals. I doubt it will happen. But it could, depending on what pressure I exert_.

"Good," Malaya said, dusting off her hands. "Now all we do is wait until they are relaxed after the ceremony. If you succeed, all shall be well. If not, instead of serving food, I shall serve Jeff Tracy an ultimatum. Hand over the plans for International Rescue, or watch your family die one by one."

Lily nodded, though didn't smile.

There was a knock at the door; the two women turned. Bluebell entered the kitchen and clasped her hands behind her back.

"Everything is ready for the ceremony, Sunflower," she said. "I came to see if there was anything I can do here."

"We are also ready," Malaya said. "I trust you have stowed your…equipment, within easy reach?"

Bluebell flashed her knife again and grinned.

"Of course."

"Good," Malaya said. "Go back down and monitor the situation. Make sure everyone is playing ball. You, Rose and Thorn are to remain at the dining table set up at the pool – though keep your ears open for any trouble. The quartet will keep eyes on the ceremony. Then, you guide them to the table. All the while, Lily will start her attempt on the computer system. If she can't decrypt the security systems fast enough, we'll strike."

Bluebell gave her a grin and adjusted her skirt again. She nodded and then turned to leave. However, she had only taken a few steps along the hallway when Malaya heard a sharp cry and saw Bluebell stumble backwards.

Springing to her feet, Malaya skidded into the hall. _We cannot be in trouble already!_

Bluebell was standing with her hand on her chest, her breaths coming in shallow gasps, while a sallow-faced man in a butler's outfit bowed in apology.

"H'ay am so sorry, madam," he said. "H'ay did not see you, there."

"Never mind," Malaya snapped. "Get to your station."

Without a word, Bluebell started off again. Malaya narrowed her eyes at the man.

"What are you doing down here?" she asked.

"H'ay 'ave been sent to get a glass of water for 'er Ladyship," he said, puffing with pride.

Malaya snapped her fingers. It took Lily a few seconds to realise what she was meant to do. She plucked up a glass and went to the tap, but the butler cried out.

"No, no! Tap water will not do for 'er Ladyship. She's a member of the British aristocracy, don't you know."

Lily looked at Malaya, who jerked her head towards the refrigerator. Taking out a bottle of chilled sparkling water, Lily went to hand it to the butler, who bristled.

"My goodness," he said. "H'ay don't know 'oo did your training, but I'd like to 'ave a word with 'im. Do you seriously think I can simply 'and a bottle to Milady? Strike me down..."

He shouldered his way into the kitchen before Malaya could stop him. Her fingers twitched, anticipating the feel of the gun that was holstered under her arm. _Not yet_ , she thought.

The butler plucked up a silver serving tray, examined a glass until he was sure there was not a speck of dirt on it, and then placed it and the water onto the tray. He raised it up – along with his considerable nose – and strode out.

"Some people," he said, casting Malaya a filthy look.

When he was out of earshot, Malaya's hand twitched again.

"That one," she said, "I will enjoy killing."

"Hopefully it won't come to that," Lily said. She glanced at her watch. "It's two fifty-five. Nearly show time."

Malaya placed one hand on her hip, still staring up the now-empty hallway.

"Start now," she said. "I don't think anyone will be back down at this point."

"Yes, ma'am," Lily said.

And as the woman unstrapped the computer from her torso and started to work, Malaya allowed herself a self-indulgent smile. _Very soon, I will have everything I ever wanted. I told you I would do it, Father. I will not fail_.

 **~oOo~**

When he rounded the corner and knew he was out of sight, Parker discarded the silver tray and broke into a run. _I don't know what this is all about_ , he thought, _but I do know that I don't like it. I need to speak to Milady._

He headed for the villa bedrooms and started trying doors, for he didn't know which one was Tin-Tin's room. _I know I should not see the bride before the ceremony_ , he said, _but I think this is important enough to break with tradition!_

Eventually, he burst into a room that was draped with red silks and satins, with a beautiful vanity table in the corner – all set off with a few well-framed photographs of racing cars and circuits. It was certainly the right room. However, it was also empty.

"Drat," Parker said. "I might still be able to catch them before they begin."

Turning on his heel, he fled.

 **~oOo~**

Having left Tin-Tin radiant and in the care of her beloved father, Lady Penelope took her seat beside Jeff.

"The garden looks absolutely splendid," she said, grasping his hand to squeeze it. "It is absolutely perfect."

Jeff chuckled and patted her hand.

"It certainly is, Penny," he said. "Now all we need is the bride, and we can get this show on the road."

"Oh, she is on her way," Penelope said. "And she is looking absolutely stunning."

At that, Alan tried to turn around, but Scott stopped him.

"Front and centre, little brother," he said.

Gordon shot Alan a vicious look.

"Alan! You're not allowed to turn around," he said.

"Yes, dear," Penelope chimed in. Alan tried to turn again but was once more stopped by Scott's strong hands. "If you turn around, it means you're worried that the bride won't appear. And that does not show much trust now, does it?"

"I guess not, Lady Penelope," Alan said. "I'm just antsy. She is on her way, isn't she?"

"Yes, yes, Alan," Penelope said, giving Jeff a sidelong smile. "She shall be here any moment now."

She allowed Jeff to continue holding her hand and squeezed his fingers in her own.

"You must be very proud, Jeff," she said. "They will be very happy with one another, I'm sure. And the day will go swimmingly – although, I still don't understand why they agreed to let Gordon marry them."

"Hey," Gordon said, giving her his patented puppy-dog eyes – not that they worked on Penelope. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"I just find it strange, Gordon dear," she said. _I do hope he doesn't try to make a joke of the whole thing_.

Before Gordon could respond, his attention was grabbed by something else.

And his jaw _dropped_.

Penelope smiled as he shook himself from his shock and gave the signal for everyone to stand. At that, the string quartet began to play – although they were the least cheerful band of musicians Penelope had ever seen. As she stood, she looked a little closer. _I don't remember those faces_ , she thought.

But her attention was diverted from them as she turned to see Tin-Tin beginning her walk up the red-carpet aisle that had been unfurled through the middle of the garden. She looked magnificent and Kyrano, whose eyes were already filling with tears, looked as though he could not have been prouder.

Unable to help himself, Alan turned around under the weight of anticipation. Penelope didn't think she could smile any wider as she watched him mouth a silent, "Wow!" at the sight of his bride to be. _That's the spirit, Alan_ , she thought.

Tin-Tin reached out to grasp Penelope's hand as she passed. And, as the bride joined the groom on the little plinth in front of their family and friends, Penelope looked around – and frowned. _Where on Earth is Parker?_ she thought. _I suppose he might be trying to help with preparations, though he was told he was more than welcome at the ceremony. How very strange._

Her attention was brought back to the ceremony as Gordon began to speak. She need not have worried that he wouldn't take his job seriously. There was no grand voice, no silliness. Instead, he spoke with eloquence and passion. _Good boy_ , Penelope thought with a grin.

"Today is a very special day," he began. "Today is the day when Tin-Tin finally makes an honest man out of our little brother."

There was a ripple of laughter through the small audience.

"I am honoured that they have allowed me to have such a special role in their special day. I can't say that I have any good advice on marriage – or even on love, for that matter." There was another wave of laughter. "However, they need only look to the marriages in our families, as short lived as they may have been. From Kyrano and his late wife Puteri, from Grandpa Grant and Grandma Katherine," and at that, he nodded at his grandmother, who was holding Adam and dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, "and, last but not least, our own parents' marriage, the unstoppable duo of Jeff and Lucille Tracy – well, let's just say that there are plenty of role models to choose from."

Gordon paused for breath and looked at Tin-Tin, then Alan. Both were becoming teary-eyed.

"From the first time I saw Alan's mouth gape wide open at the sight of Tin-Tin's beauty, I knew this is where it would lead – in spite of a certain brother of mine and his assertions that he didn't want to 'settle down.' Well, as Grandma would say, there's nothing more effective in getting your priorities straight than having kids, and these two skipped right over marriage and went straight for the baby carriage."

Penelope saw the tips of Alan's ears redden and she shook her head.

"But, these things do happen," Gordon continued, "and of course, we have the delightful Adam in our family now."

At the sound of his own name, Adam giggled and began to babble. Grandma Tracy bounced him on her knee, her eyes still streaming.

"The main thing that these two have, and the thing that will keep them together forever, is love. Love for each other, love for their son, and love for our extended family…"

There was a tap on her shoulder and Penelope lost the rest of the speech. She turned to see Parker, his face drawn and pinched.

"What's wrong?" she whispered.

"Milady, I think we may 'ave 'h'a situation," he said.

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked.

"I am not entirely convinced that these staff are who they say they are," said Parker. "I wish I'd 'ave noticed earlier, but they don't h'appear to be the people we carried out the security checks on – though their h'identification has the correct names."

"Alright, Parker," she said, returning her attention to the ceremony. "Leave this to me."

Parker nodded and retreated to the chair behind her.

"Everything alright?" Jeff asked.

"I'm not sure yet," Penelope replied. "Sit tight for a moment, please."

"…and that brings them here, today, with all of us," Gordon continued. "We're here to share in the joy of their marriage, and to officially welcome Tin-Tin, and indeed Kyrano, to the family – even though they've been honorary members for longer than I can remember."

Gordon smiled at the bride and groom and gestured for them to face one another. Penelope's attention was entirely diverted, however. The string quartet had appeared to be on edge from the beginning of the speech, but they had become markedly more so after Parker had appeared. _I don't like this_ , Penelope thought. Jeff had relinquished her hand and was tense beside her, not quite sure what was happening.

"Well," Gordon said with a laugh, "I sort of have to say this – or at least, so every wedding in the movies _ever_ has taught me. Before we get started with the exchange of the rings, if anyone objects to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your piece."

Just at that moment, one of the violinists shifted in her chair. That sealed it, for there was no doubting it now. There was an unmistakable glint of metal strapped to her leg.

"Stop!" Penelope said, leaping from her chair.

Tin-Tin spun around, a look of abject betrayal in her eyes.

"Penelope!" she said. "How _could_ you?"

"I'm so sorry, Tin-Tin," she said, "but this simply must be done. Parker?"

"Yus, Milady."

"Take out our little presents, will you?"

"Right away, Milday."

Everyone was staring, perched on the edge of their seats, eyes full of anger and confusion. However, all became clear.

With a deft flick of his wrist, Parker withdrew two pistols from inside his jacket, handing one to Penelope. She drew it up and pointed it at the string quartet. Parker did the same.

"These people are not who they say they are," she said. " _Don't_ ," she said as the violinist reached for the weapon strapped to her leg – a vicious hunting knife, by the look of it.

"What is this?" Alan asked, his voice full of fury.

Then he turned to look down the 'aisle' again and his face blanched. Penelope permitted herself a quick look. Her heart sank.

There were three more of the 'staff' there, all armed with either knives or guns.

"Everyone, stay where you are," the tallest of them said in an accent almost as thick as Parker's. "This doesn't have to end in bloodshed – but that doesn't mean we don't _want_ it to."

His grin was malicious. The two children began to whimper.

"What is this?" Jeff asked, on his feet and poised for a fight.

But the quartet had drawn their weapons. _Seven against two_ , Penelope thought. _This does not bode well for us_.

"Drop the guns," the man said.

Knowing that their hands were tied, Penelope gave the nod for Parker to acquiesce. They tossed their guns aside.

"Everyone," the smallest of the two women said, "put your hands in the air. _Now_."

"What do you want from us?" Jeff asked, refusing to raise his hands. "There are young children here."

"Oh," the second woman said, walking a little closer and withdrawing a knife from her thigh holster. She brought it up to his throat. "It's not what _we_ want. It's what our _employer_ wants."

When she pushed the teeth of the knife towards Jeff's neck, there was a collective cry from his sons. However, Jeff raised a hand and barked an order to stop.

"Stay where you are," he said. Then he looked at the woman again. "And who is your employer?"

The woman grinned and motioned at the garden exit with her free hand.

"She's here, and she's been _dying_ to meet you. Let's go and see her, shall we?"

And with that, the wedding party was jostled and herded up towards the villa. Guns and knives proved to be effective bindings.

"Oh, dear," Penelope said, keeping her tone cool for the benefit of the others. This was not the first time she had ever been in trouble and they knew it. _Indeed, they've rescued me from danger on more occasions than I care to admit_. They would all be expecting her to remain a bastion of strength, so that is what she did. "This is such a pity. Everything was going so well."


	9. Chapter 9

"Approaching Danger Zone now," Matthew said. "ETA three minutes."

Brains nodded.

"G-good," he said. "We need to l-locate the downed helijet as soon as p-possible."

The engineer returned his attention to the readouts he had been studying, though he did cast a final glance at Matthew. For the entire trip, the man's back was ramrod straight and his hands had been in a vice-like grip on the steering column. _I suppose it's only natural to be nervous,_ Brains thought. _This is the first time he's flown Thunderbird Two on active duty_. _And I wouldn't want to incur the wrath of Virgil, either!_

Peering out of the cockpit, Brains could see huge plumes of ash and gas pouring from the top of the volcano. Merapi's cragged surface was picked out in sharp relief against the blueness of the sky and the gentle carpet of green foliage that surrounded it was almost blanked out. _I just hope we can find the helijet in time…_

As the small team had departed for the Danger Zone, Brains had been able to contact the group of researchers. They had been taking airborne CO2 and SO2 readings when tragedy struck. The jet developed some kind of mechanical issue and there was nothing the pilot could do. Down they went, the helijet crashing on its side – mercifully, between two lava flows. However, the pilot had reported that the flowers were slowly encroaching on the gap they were nestled in. Brains knew that the steel of the helijet body would likely withstand the high temperatures but for the crew, it would be like being in a Brazen Bull. _Thankfully, they have respirators,_ he thought. _But if we don't get there in time, they'll be cooked alive_.

"I think I see them!" Matthew said.

Both Brains and Elijah stood at the same time and, sure enough, through the haze of ash they could see the downed helijet, flanked on either side by fast flows of molten rock.

"Fly over the area," Brains said. "I need to get a g-good look at the wreckage."

"F.A.B."

Matthew took Thunderbird Two down as close as he dared and passed over the downed helijet a few times.

Giving a hum of satisfaction, Brains returned to his seat and opened the communication channel to the crew once more.

"Volcanologist crew from Thunderbird Two. W-we have located you. Please stand by for further instructions."

There was a moment of harsh crackling on the line before Brains received a response.

"O-okay, International Rescue." The man's voice was strained and muffled by his respirator. "We're standing by. But please hurry. It's as hot as Hell itself down here!"

Brains turned to Elijah, who was already clad in a heat resistant suit, the helmet tucked under his arm.

"Alright, I th-think we'll go with the r-rescue cage. Elijah, you'll go down in it. Use the oxyhydnide cutters to get into the wreckage if the bulkhead door is jammed. And remember, don't let the crew touch any of the metal with bare skin. It will be e-extremely hot. Bring some h-heatproof blankets."

"Understood, Brains," Elijah said.

Before he left the cabin, he shot Matthew a sharp look.

"Keep her steady," he said.

"Don't worry about that," Matthew replied, giving him a wink. "I've got this."

 **~oOo~**

When Malaya saw the wedding party marching into the lounge at gunpoint, she was not entirely unsurprised.

"Sir," Bluebell said, her knife jammed against Jeff Tracy's throat, "the butler and the bitch rumbled us."

At that, Malaya pulled her face into a sharp frown.

"Bluebell. Do not call our guests by such crude names. Address her by her proper title, or do not speak at all!" Bluebell paused for a moment, her head tilting to one side. Malaya kept her eyes hard. "We are not here to be ignorant pigs. We are here to get what we want."

She could see Bluebell biting her tongue. Instead of speaking, the woman grabbed Jeff's shoulder and threw him onto one of the couches. The others followed suit and soon all thirteen were herded into a small space.

"I assume," Jeff said, "that you are this woman's employer. What do you want?"

He was trying to keep his temper in check but the minute waver in his throat betrayed his anger. Malaya crossed towards them and leaned on the back of an empty chair.

"Yes, Jeff Tracy," she said. "I am her employer. And what I want is everything you have."

"Screw you!" the younger of the blond sons shouted.

Malaya clicked her fingers and immediately Rose had a gun to the man's head.

"Alan, stop," said Jeff. "Say nothing."

Then he returned his attention to her. His eyes were hard.

"If you want money," Jeff said, "I'll gladly pay for the safety of my family. How much do you want?"

It was clear that the words pained him, each syllable like a spike on his tongue. Malaya barked out a laugh and shook her head.

"Oh, please," she said. "If I wanted money I would have robbed a bank."

"Then what _do_ you want?"

Despite the warning, one of the other sons had spoken again. This time Malaya knew his name. It was Scott, the oldest, a former member of the USAF.

"My dear," she said. "It is very simple. What I want is this: all of your lovely secrets. I want the plans to all of your technology."

"What are you talking about?" Jeff asked, his face growing redder with each passing second. "The plans for Tracy Industries tech aren't here. I can't just –"

Growing weary of the game, Malaya straightened up and crossed her arms.

"You misunderstand me," she said. "And rightly so, I suppose. You don't know what I'm really here for. You see, Jeff Tracy, I know who you and your collection of progeny really are. It took a lot of work to figure it out, and then to plan for an eventuality that would lead me here. But, yes. I know your secrets." She paused to ensure she had everyone's rapt attention. "I know that you are the founder of International Rescue."

" _What_?" Jeff asked, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. "That's preposterous!"

Malaya had no smiles left and instead shook her head.

"No, it is not. You run a tight ship, Mr Tracy. You keep your secrets well. Indeed, it wasn't even you who made a mistake, allowing me to unravel your mysteries. In fact, it wasn't even someone I employed. It was a fluke, a serendipitous event – for me, anyway."

She walked closer to the group. This time, she focused her attention on the older blond.

"This one," she said, reaching out a thin finger to point at him, "John Tracy, son of an American billionaire industrialist, was the lynchpin."

" _What_?" John asked, so physically repulsed by her statement that he slid back on the seat. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Malaya stared down at him, then looked at each of the brothers one by one until her gaze returned to Jeff.

"I worked in London until just under a year ago." She turned and walked back to her chair and sat down, all the while keeping her eyes on Jeff. "I watched a news story unfold. A terrible one. The twenty-eight year old son of an American billionaire industrialist went missing. Apparently kidnapped from the side of the road." She flicked her eyes to John again. All colour had drained from his face. "It was a terrible thing but, apart from the occasional _heartfelt_ appeal on the televiewer, I thought nothing of it. Until that Halloween night when Mr John Tracy finally escaped – and was helped in his endeavours by none other than _International Rescue_."

"That doesn't prove that _we_ are International Rescue," the other dark-haired son said. "It just proves that they helped our brother."

Malaya gave him a simpering smile.

"Yes, to the ordinary person, it would seem that way. A young man makes a brave escape from a terrible ordeal and International Rescue just happen to be in the neighbourhood and pop along to help out. A lovely story." She returned her attention to Jeff once more. "But, of course, that version of the story lacks a significant details – a detail that I was able to extract from one of my more… _salacious_ encounters with a member of Essex police. I hadn't even been trying to find the information. I was looking for something else. But it's amazing what men will tell you in the midst of post-coital bliss.

"My dear police friend was there on the night of the dramatic rescue. He saw one Mr John Tracy being embraced by _all_ of the members of the International Rescue crew that were present. All of them! And they looked like they knew each other _very_ well. So, with that little nugget of information, I started piecing things together. Eventually, the jigsaw was completed – and what did it reveal? Exactly what I expected. Jeff Tracy is the head of International Rescue, for he has the funding, the secluded base _and_ the sons to operate it." She held up her hands, fingers splayed. "It wasn't difficult to find out the information about the wedding. It wasn't difficult to take over the company. It wasn't difficult to replace the employees with my own people." She shrugged. "In fact, none of this was hard at all."

Finished with her explanation, Malaya met with a wall of silence. The only one who didn't look stony-faced and serious was John, who instead looked distinctly nauseous.

Eventually, Jeff Tracy spoke again, his chin tipped upwards in defiance.

"None of what you've said has any shred of proof to back it up. It's all speculation – perhaps coincidence."

"No, no, Mr Tracy," Malaya said. "It isn't. I'm about to send a few of my people out searching this island. Somewhere, they will come across your craft."

Jeff gave her a sardonic grin.

"I assure you, they will not."

Malaya's fingers twitched at his insolence but she refused to rise to the bait.

"I assure you, they will," she said. Then she turned to look over her shoulder. Lily was sitting in the background, tapping away on her tablet. "My colleague, Lily, there, is one of the world's foremost hackers. She's worming her way into your databases right now. But who knows how long that could take? It would be much better if you just handed over what I want. Then we can be on our way."

At that, Jeff stood. Orchid and Tulip trained their weapons on him, though Malaya waved them off.

"And what exactly would your intentions be?" Jeff asked. "If what you say is true, why do you want International Rescue's technology?"

"To sell it, of course," Malaya said. "What else would I do with it? There are hundreds of people around the globe who want access to _your_ technology, who also happen to have the money to pay for it. I have no interest in using it myself. I just want to profit from it."

"You're crazy," Jeff said. "And completely wrong."

Malaya shook her head.

"No, Jeff Tracy, I am not. Bluebell and Daisy?"

"Yes, Sunflower?" the two women chorused.

"Start searching this place. Look for anything out of the ordinary. Look for the unexpected." She grinned, showing two rows of poor teeth. "Think hidden switches and revolving bookcases. I'm sure you'll find something."

The two of them nodded and disappeared in different directions. Malaya stood and turned her attention to the other members of her team.

"Now that we're a few men down," she said, "I want to secure our safety. We don't want anyone behaving _gallantly_ now, do we? The heroes that you all are." She looked to Thorn. "Bring me the children and the old woman."

" _No!"_ the bride called out.

She tried to keep a tight hold on the child in her lap but Thorn ripped her arm away. The small boy began to scream but it didn't elicit so much as a frown from Thorn, who snatched him up. He went to grab for the old woman with the other baby in her arms. She pulled away.

"Don't you dare put your hands on me!" she said.

"Mother," Jeff said, "we don't have a choice."

"I know that, Jeff," she said, bristling, "but I am perfectly capable of walking." She gave Thorn a look that could blister skin. "I'm not an invalid, you know!"

Thorn growled and reached out again, this time clamping on to her arm.

"Not now," he said, "but maybe later. Now get over there!"

"Leave her alone!" The youngest one – Alan – said, jumping to his feet and raising his fists. "Don't touch my grandmother or my child, or so help me –"

Rose pressed the barrel of her gun against the nape of Alan's neck again.

"Don't make me shoot you," she said.

Jeff motioned for Alan to sit down again. The young man's face was grey.

"But Father –"

" _No,_ Alan," Jeff said. "Just do as I say!"

Petulant as a three year old, Alan flopped back down onto the chair beside the bride. She leaned in to him, her face streaming with tears.

Thorn propelled the old woman – clearly Jeff's mother – and the two children over to Malaya. She vacated her seat to allow the elderly lady to sit down, before taking the second child from Thorn and placing him in the arms of his grandmother.

"There, now," Malaya said. "How quaint. Rose and Snapdragon, come here."

The two complied immediately.

"If any of the others try to escape, shoot one of these three. I don't really care which one."

"You can't!"

This time the outburst was from John, who seemed to have snapped out of his coma of disbelief and was now staring, his eyes wide.

"Of course I can, dear," Malaya said. "I have your entire family over a barrel." She gave the Tracy men another sneering grin and clasped her hands together. "Oh, how awful for you. All of you heroes, and not one of you able to do a damn thing. Because if you do, one of these innocents –" She gestured at the furious grandmother and the two children. "-will be killed."

Then she honed in on Jeff again, her bottom lip jutting out in mock despair.

"Oh dear. And none of this would be necessary if you would just give me what I want."

This time, the only response she got from him was a fierce glare. Malaya shrugged and motioned for Orchid and Thorn to keep an eye on the rest of the group. As much as she was sure the threat of violence against an old woman and two children would keep their actions in check, there were still ten others to keep watch over.

"Well," Malaya said, heaving a sigh, "if you aren't going to help me, I'll have to take what I want by force." She turned on her heel and started looking around the lounge. "Now, if I were a billionaire philanthropist with a secret organisation to hide, how would I do it?" She ran her fingers along the edge of the large desk that dominated one section of the room. She turned back to Jeff and smiled. "Do let me know if I'm getting close."

Again, she received no response.

 **~oOo~**

The rescue operation didn't take long to complete. Within an hour of arriving at the Danger Zone, the three volcanologists had been plucked from the wreckage of their helijet and given basic medical attention, before being dropped off with the local rescue teams.

After making sure that International Rescue's help was no longer required, Brains gave the order to stand down and they began the journey back to the island.

It had been four and a half hours since they had been deployed. That made it around seven-fifteen in the evening, island time. The ceremony would be long over, and no doubt there would be much revelry and dancing after the wedding meal. _That's it,_ Brains thought, sinking down into his chair. _Tin-Tin is now married to Alan. She's gone forever_. His thoughts turned bitter as he stared out of the cockpit window. There was nothing much to see except clouds.

 _You never stood a chance_ , he thought. _You never even told her how you felt. Now she's married to another man and you never can tell her. You'll have to keep your mouth closed for the rest of your life_.

It was true that Brains had been in love with Tin-Tin for many years. It wasn't lust, it wasn't a fleeting desire. It was _love_. He would have done anything for her – and had frequently put his life on the line for her. But then, he would do that for any of his friends – even Alan.

Brains fought a snarl from his face. _He doesn't deserve her_ , he thought. _No matter how he might feel now, I know how much he hurt her all those times when he refused to settle down, or even said in front of her that he wasn't interested in a relationship. Alan Tracy got to swan around and live his playboy life, while poor Tin-Tin ended up in tears in my lab! He's lucky I'm not a dishonest fellow. It would have been so easy to sweep in and take her away…_

"You alright there, Brains, lad?" Matthew asked.

Snapped out of his thoughts, Brains adjusted his glasses and blinked.

"W-why do you asked, Matthew?"

Matthew returned his attention to the controls – he was markedly more relaxed on the return journey.

"Well," he said, "you just seem a bit distracted."

"Is there something on your mind?" Elijah asked.

 _I would dearly love to tell someone_ , Brains thought. _I would love to spill all of my secrets…but I can't, for Tin-Tin's sake. She's so good, so lovely, that she would feel she had to comfort me and – well, I don't think I could cope with it_ …

Instead of all that, Brains simply shook his head.

"N-no, Elijah. I'm just wondering if they saved us any scraps from the wedding dinner. I must say, I am quite peckish!"

The twins chuckled, producing a strange harmony.

"Me too, son!" Matthew said. "I could murder a steak right now. Oh, especially one cooked the way Mr Tracy cooked them at the bachelor party." He blew a kiss at the windshield. "Beautiful!"

"S-speaking of M-Mr Tracy," Brains said. "I should call in and let him know that everything is a-alright."

Elijah folded his arms, one leg tucked underneath himself.

"How will he be able to answer?" Elijah said. "The wedding staff will still be there."

"N-never fear, Elijah," Brains said. "Remember, my most recent update for our communicator watches was the installation of a v-vibrating function. I intend to send Mr Tracy a message, via Morse code, and if he is able to return a voice call, all the better."

"Aah," Matthew said, waving one hand in the air. "They don't call you Brains for nothing!"

Elijah rolled his eyes. Brains shook his head, smiling lightly.

He then lifted his arm up to access his watch and unlocked the vibrate function. Then, he used the winder on the side of the watch to start tapping out his message.

 _MISSION COMPLETE. SUCCESS. NO FATALITIES. EN ROUTE TO MATEO NOW._

He waited for a few moments, not expecting an immediate response. Doubtless, Jeff would be enjoying himself too respond right away.

When a message did come through, it made Brains' blood run cold.

 _NEED HELP._

"W-what?" he asked.

Before either twin could respond, he held up a hand for silence. More of the message came through.

 _BASE COMPROMISED._

"Oh, no…"

"What is it, Brains?" Elijah asked. "Is there something wrong?"

 _DO NOT BRING CRAFT TO TRACY ISLAND._

"I b-believe so, Elijah," Brains said softly.

 _AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. ASSAILANTS ARE ARMED. HOSTAGES TAKEN._

"G-good Lord," Brains said.

He quickly responded.

 _F.A.B._

He could feel the colour draining from his face. Matthew glanced over his shoulder.

"What is it?" he asked.

"The message M-Mister Tracy has sent through as c-conveyed that… Tracy Island has been compromised, and whoever the assailants are, they are a-armed and d-dangerous."

"Holy Mother of God…" Matthew whispered.

Elijah said nothing, but instead crossed himself in the Catholic fashion and closed his eyes for a moment.

"What the hell do we do?" Matthew asked.

"W-we get back to Mateo as fast as p-possible," Brains said. "Then we wait for further instructions."

"That's bullshit," Matthew said. "Well, the second part, anyway. The first part, I can oblige."

With that, Brains found himself thrown back into the seat as Matthew opened Thunderbird Two's throttle, taking her up to maximum speed.

 _Hold one, everyone_ , Brains thought. _We're coming!_


	10. Chapter 10

As soon as he had been able, Scott had slid over to his father. Virgil and Gordon had followed. John lingered on the periphery, and Alan, Penelope and Kyrano were comforting Tin-Tin as best they could. Parker was sitting near them, poised as though he would strike at any moment – though the defeat in his eyes was clear.

Across from them, Grandma Tracy maintained a defiant expression, though Scott could see that weariness was weighing on her. The children had been unsettled, clearly terrified by the ordeal and likely hungry. One after the other, though, they eventually gave way to ennui and collapsed into an unsettled sleep. The guards had at least had the decency to bring over Lyra's bouncer and allow Grandma to set Adam on another chair.

It had been four and a half hours since they were taken hostage. Jeff felt as though he consisted of two parts uselessness and three parts of rage.

"I wish there was something we could do," Scott whispered again.

Clearly, his first-born was feeling the same way.

"I know, Scott," Jeff said, his own whisper strained with venom. "We've really been caught with our pants down. The only saving grace is that they don't know we really _are_ who they _think_ we are."

Virgil leaned in, his face marred with a scowl.

"Yeah," he said, "but what happens if they don't find what they want? They're not going to just pack up and leave."

Scott, who, like the others, had long since abandoned the top hat and cravat, huffed out a quiet breath.

"We need a plan," he said. "We need to take control – without revealing our secrets. I say if there's a distraction, even an accidental one, we try and escape. Even if only a few of us make it out, it's better than none."

Gordon shuffled closer and bent his head to join the conversation.

"We have the armoury in the firing range," he said. "If we can get there, we can arm ourselves."

"Yeah," Virgil replied, "but how do we get out of this room without someone being killed? They really do have us over a barrel."

"I don't know," Gordon said, sounding defeated. Then he looked over his shoulder at John, who had his hands clasped in his lap and looked as though he had been given a death sentence. "I'm worried about him," Gordon said, dropping his voice even lower. "He hasn't said anything but I bet he thinks this is all his fault."

Jeff cast a thin-lipped stare at his older blond and shook his head.

"I know he does," he said. "But none of this is. The only one to blame is me. I should have seen this. I should have –"

" _Dad_ ," Scott said, reaching out to touch his father's shoulder. "You did everything you could. You ran background checks. Nothing came up. We've been outsmarted – but remember, they still don't know about the outfit."

Jeff glanced up to see one of the men – Snapdragon, he had been called – staring down at them. Making a small gesture to hush his sons, he withdrew and turned his attention to the woman who had done all the talking. _Sunflower, they called her._

"We're going to need to start taking bathroom breaks soon," he said. "And we need food and water."

Sunflower, who was reclining in his chair with her feet on the desk, continued to spin her firearm around on one finger.

"You're going to need to start singing, soon," she said. She had an accent that was difficult to define. Some of her intonation was American and yet some of it was not. "That's what you should really be thinking about."

"There's nothing to sing about," Jeff said, his tone angrier than he had intended. With a concerted effort, he brought his voice back under control. "If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. We are not International Rescue!"

Sunflower laughed – or, more accurately, cackled – and withdrew her feet from the desk. She holstered her gun and began to walk, most casually, to the front of the desk. Then she stood with her hands on her hips.

"Stop the charade," she said. "My people will find something eventually. And Lily, there, will break through your security eventually."

Jeff declined to respond to that, so Sunflower shrugged.

"Maybe I'll have a little look around again," she said, crossing to place her hands on the back of Lily's chair. "I trust that you _are_ making progress, my dear?"

The other woman shifted a little in her chair. Jeff could see her throat move as she gulped. _She'll never break through Brains' security systems,_ he thought. _No matter how good Sunflower thinks she is._

"Y-yes," Lily said. "It's going slower than I expected but I am breaking through."

Sunflower moved her hands from the chair to Lily's shoulders and squeezed. Jeff could see the woman tense at the touch.

"Good," Sunflower said, "I am not the most patient person. And my patience is starting to wear thin."

At that, Bluebell and Daisy – the women who had been sent to search the island – reappeared from the patio. Sunflower turned to them with a smile on her face, though it quickly dissolved as she took in their dejected expressions.

"We couldn't find anything," Bluebell said. "We looked everywhere – in all of the buildings, in the damn _jungle_." For effect she pulled a long piece of foliage from her hair and let it drop to the floor. "But we couldn't find a damn thing."

Sunflower nodded, her face dangerously impassive. She called the two women over and they retreated to a distance so the rest could not hear. Jeff was about to lean in to speak to his sons again when something happened.

His wrist watch began to vibrate. _That must be Brains!_ he thought.

And indeed, it was.

 _MISSION COMPLETE. SUCCESS. NO FATALITIES. EN ROUTE TO MATEO NOW._

"Father?" Scott asked.

Jeff gestured at his watch in as inconspicuous a way as possible.

"My watch is vibrating," he said. "It's a message from Brains. They're on their way back."

"We can send a message back!" Virgil said. "Tell them we need help."

"Yeah, Virg," Scott replied, "but what can they do? If they appear, then our cover will be blown." He looked at Jeff. "I guess we can at least let them know what's going on."

"Right," Jeff replied.

He activated the signal sender on his watch and began to click the winder.

 _NEED HELP. BASE COMPROMISED._

Snapdragon looked down at them for a moment but quickly looked away again, for he was more interested in Sunflower and her co-conspirators.

 _DO NOT BRING CRAFT TO TRACY ISLAND._ _AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. ASSAILANTS ARE ARMED. HOSTAGES TAKEN._

"There," Jeff said. "I've relayed as much information as I can, for now. I've told them to stay away and wait for instructions."

Within seconds of the last message, the response came through.

 _F.A.B._

Before he could speak again, Sunflower broke away from her little confab and began strolling around the lounge again. As she drew closer to the hidden entrance to Thunderbird One's hangar, Jeff felt his heart begin to pound. _She didn't notice anything last time,_ he thought. _She won't notice anything this time, either._

"Jeff, Jeff, Jeff," she said, letting her arms swing loosely at her sides. "I'm now out of patience. You need to co-operate now or else someone is going to die – and their blood will be on your hands and your hands only."

"I'm telling you, we have nothing to hide."

Sunflower shook her head. There were no smiles, now.

"Oh, Jeff," she said, reaching up to lean on one of the sconces. "You really must-"

And there it was. The lamp began to move. Jeff felt his heart sink and bile rise in his throat as Sunflower raised an eyebrow and started to pull it down further. She yanked it and it went all the way.

In that moment, several things happened at once.

The wall began to turn, taking Sunflower with it. The guards became distracted. And the room descended into chaos.

" _Run_!" Scott said.

In a heartbeat, Jeff watched as Scott, Virgil and Gordon bolted, running faster than he had ever seen. In the confusion, Alan leapt up and followed; Parker did the same.

The room was filled with shouts and screams. The children, woken by the din, began to wail. Indeed, silence was only returned when Thorn fired three shots into the air.

"Shut the fuck up!" he said. He looked from the wall, now completely rotated and replaced by an identical pair of lamps. "Where the fuck has she gone?" he asked.

There was no point in answering, so Jeff merely tilted his head in defiance.

Both Tin-Tin and John had leapt to their feet and had grabbed their children, trying desperately to protect and comfort them. _Thank god five of us managed to get out,_ Jeff thought. _At least they'll be able to communicate more freely with the others – and maybe even get us out of here!_

But for now, there was nothing any of the rest could do; all weapons were trained on them once more.

Within a minute, the wall began to rotate again. When Sunflower reappeared, she looked as though she could not decide whether to be ecstatic or furious. It took a few moments for her to realise that there were five fewer bodies in the room.

She glared at Bluebell and Daisy.

"Why the hell are you still here? Go and find the fuckers! You too, Thorn."

Jeff watched as they fled the room, hot on the heels of his four sons and Parker. Before he could give it any further thought, Sunflower strode up to him and grabbed his chin, squeezing his face.

"Get your hands off him!" his mother cried, but she was quickly silenced by Rose's gun.

"Oh, Jeff," Sunflower whispered. "You have been a very naughty boy. You kept telling me that you weren't International Rescue. Over and over, you said it. But behind that wall, there was a fucking enormous hangar. You said you weren't who we thought you were, but that's not true now, is it?"

Jeff remained silent but she squeezed his face even harder.

"IS IT?"

"No," Jeff said through gritted teeth. "It's not true. But you know what else isn't true? That you'll get your hands on any of our technology."

At that, Sunflower spat into his eye. She relinquished his face and he recoiled, wiping the detritus from his cheek.

"This is not good, Jeff Tracy," Sunflower said, the fingers of one hand clenching and unclenching. Then she turned suddenly. "Where are the ships?"

Jeff flicked her spittle onto the floor and laughed.

"You'll never know."

Sunflower's nostrils flared at that and she stalked towards him. Then she stopped abruptly and changed course. She turned her attention to the two children.

"No!" Tin-Tin cried, curling her body around Adam. "Don't you dare touch my baby!"

Sunflower went to reach out anyway but withdrew her hand, then turned her attention to John and Lyra instead.

"Hand over the child," she said.

John's eyes were darker than Jeff had ever seen them.

"Never," he growled.

"Not to me," Sunflower said, her tone light, as though she was thinking of something she had not considered before. "To the old one."

Grandma Tracy bristled.

"I have a name, you know," she said.

"Mother," Jeff snapped. "This isn't the time."

Reluctantly, John rose and delivered a squalling Lyra into his grandmother's hands. Then, before he had time to turn, Sunflower's hands were on his shoulders and she propelled him towards Snapdragon, who pulled John into a tight grip.

"What are you doing?" Jeff asked.

Sunflower grabbed a chair and pulled it to a free spot on the floor. She motioned for Snapdragon to dump John on it, before she gathered up the discarded cravats and began to bind John to the chair. _What the blazes is she doing?_

Trying to fight her off, John was treated to a smack to the back of the head with the butt of Snapdragon's gun. Jeff's heart ripped at his son's cry of pain, though the blow hadn't been strong enough to knock John out.

"Mr Tracy," Sunflower said, her voice taking on a business-like tone. "I am growing very tired of this. And if your sons and that butler think they're going to mount some kind of rescue, they are mistaken." She jammed a hand down on John's shoulder, leaning her full weight on him. "Unfortunately, due to the fact I have lost three of my men in the pursuit of them, I cannot afford any more to leave this room in search of more of your delightful secrets."

She cast a glance at Lily, this time one full of fury.

"Since my apparent hacking genius has had no luck in breaking through your security systems, I have been left with no choice."

She left John's side and wandered to Grandma and Lyra. The baby was red-faced and screaming from hunger and fear. Sunflower reached out to stroke the child's cheek, then looked at Jeff.

"Lovely, isn't she?" she asked. Then she stood and looked at Jeff. "Parents will do anything for their children, won't they? It's a father's job to keep his sons and daughters safe. My own father took that very seriously indeed. He even took a knife in the back to protect me." She walked until she was almost nose to nose with Jeff and grinned. "Mr Tracy, you have five sons. Four of them are now beyond my reach but one of them is still here. And this one," she said, jerking a thumb at John, "is already damaged goods. I know I said earlier that I would kill these children and the old one but, whether you believe it or not, I don't particularly want to have their blood on my hands." She grinned. "I might be immoral but I still have limits. And anyway, death is so quick. There are other ways to loosen your tongue."

Keeping her eyes locked with Jeff's, she returned to John and clamped her hands on his shoulders in much the same way that she had done to Lily. John flinched at her touch. That just made Sunflower smile all the more.

"I will make you talk, Jeff Tracy," she said. "This one led me here. Now this one will ensure that I get what I came for."

"I'll never talk," John spat.

Sunflower started to massage his shoulders and tutted.

"Dear, dear," she said. "If you sing like the beautiful little canary you are, that will be a bonus. But what I really want is to hear the exquisite voice of your father, telling me everything I want to know." She leaned down until her lips were level with John's ear; she changed her voice to a stage whisper. "I know all about your case, my dear. I know what was done to you."

Jeff almost leapt forward as John blanched and dropped his gaze, his eyes roving in their sockets as he struggled to stop himself from vomiting. _Son… My son!_

"Now, Jeff Tracy," Sunflower said, standing upright again. "What is the password to the database that contains all your secrets?"

"Dad, no," John said, spluttering as he tried to keep his stomach under control. "Don't."

At that, Jeff's heart tore clean in two.

There was no way he could divulge the secrets of International Rescue. There was no way he could give this woman what she wanted. He couldn't just hand over the password, deliver her technology that she could sell to anyone – warlords, terrorists, who knew?

Equally, he could not bring himself to answer. He could not bring himself to spit in her face.

Every one of his sons would all give their lives to protect others, to protect the outfit. Jeff knew that. John knew that. And in this moment, there was nothing Jeff could do. There was nothing he could say.

So he said nothing.


	11. Chapter 11

Gordon jammed the code in faster than he ever had before. There was a deep clunk as the lock released. Then he wrenched the gun safe open. His hands hovered over the waiting weapons.

"Hurry up!" Virgil said. "We don't know if they followed us or not!"

His brother's words a catalyst, Gordon began doling out the guns and ammo. _A macabre buffet,_ he thought as he started loading bullets in the magazine. _Not exactly the wedding banquet we were expecting_ …

"Okay," said Scott, his voice taking on the tone of commander. "Our first priority needs to be making sure they don't get their hands on the plans for the Thunderbirds."

Alan snorted as he pushed a mag into the butt of his Glock.

"They'll never break into the system," he said. "Brains' security is watertight. No matter how good their hacker is, she'll never get through."

"If you'll pardon my saying so," Parker said as he loaded his own weapon, "that might not be to our advantage. Yus, the designs will be safe, but the delay might just cause those madmen h'upstairs to get restless."

Gordon nodded. Then he turned to grab holsters.

"That's true," he said. "The leader lady certainly didn't sound like she was willing to wait any longer." He paused. "Their next step will be physical violence to try to force Dad to hand over the information."

Scott accepted a holster and strapped it to his waist.

"Gordon's right," he said, tightening the belt, "as is Parker. We need to fight them on both fronts. If we can contact Brains, he might be able to help with the computer side of things. Here on the island, I say we split into two groups and try to draw as many of them away from the lounge as possible. Divide and conquer."

"How will we get the others out?" Virgil asked. "We don't know what these people are capable of."

Scott looked away for a moment, then clicked his fingers.

"With the element of surprise. They know about _us_ \- but there are two people they don't know about."

Gordon nodded.

"Matt and Elijah."

"Right," said Scott.

"And how do we get them here unnoticed?" Virgil asked. "They can't just appear overhead in Thunderbird Two."

"But they can sneak onto the island using Thunderbird Four," Gordon said. "If they bring her into the boat pen, they can gain access to land. There's no way they'll be seen that way."

Scott holstered his sidearm and motioned for the others to do the same.

"Alright," he said. "Alan and Parker, you're with me. I'm sure some of those cronies will be looking for us already; we'll handle them. We'll head for the Round House. Virgil and Gordon, try to make your way back to the lounge and draw someone out. Head for the Cliff House. We need to minimise the enemy bodies in there until we're at an advantage. I'll contact Mateo and let them know the plan."

"Master Scott," Parker asked, sliding his gun into place. He paused for a moment before asking his question. "What h'is your view on, ah, _lethal force_ in this instance?"

"Try to disable first," Scott said. Then his eyes darkened. "But if your hand is forced, do whatever needs to be done. We need to protect our home – and our family."

 **~oOo~**

When his watch signalled an incoming video call, Brains wrenched its face in front of his own. _At last! Some news!_ The twins hovered behind him, both identical faces hovering over his shoulders.

"Brains here," he said.

Scott's face appeared on the screen. His wedding attire was rumpled, with parts discarded. His jaw had the determined set that Brains knew signalled that things were about to get ugly.

"Brains," Scott said. "There have been a few developments here- and we need your help."

Listening attentively to Scott's brief rundown of the events on Tracy Island, Brains began formulating plans in his head. _It shouldn't be too difficult to trick this so-called expert… You don't mess with MY security systems and get away with it!_

"…so that's the situation." As Scott finished his recount, his face grew tight with anger. "Do everything you can. We need to regain control but most imperative of all, we need to ensure they don't get their hands on our equipment."

"R-right, Scott," Brains replied. "I'll see t-to it that they don't."

With a nod and then a click, Scott was gone and Brains turned to the twins. "You heard that, I assume."

"We did," Matthew replied. "We'll go now."

Before he turned to head for Thunderbird Four's dock, Brains caught his elbow.

"It is im-p-perative that we don't show our hand too soon," he said. "You must remain inconspicuous until the rest are ready. Do nothing until told otherwise."

Matthew nodded and shook his arm loose, then started towards the door again.

"As soon as we're on the roof, it's mouths shut and wait for the signal. We get it. There'll be no heroics from me or him."

With that, the two men left. Brains turned his attention to Mateo's backup computer systems and cracked his knuckles. He brought up the relevant screens and started delving into the security codes.

"Alright. A-a world class hacker, you say? Let's see what you've got..."

 **~oOo~**

The call to Mateo over, Scott dispersed the two teams. Virgil and Gordon flew on silent feet, disappearing round a corner and heading towards the stairs. For the rest, of course, silence was not the order of the day. _We need to find anyone looking for us,_ Scott thought. _No point in being quiet for that…_

It didn't take too long until he, Alan and Parker were found.

"There they are!"

Scott dived into a doorway as their attackers released a hail of bullets. He thought back on what he'd seen in his quick glance. Three of them, all armed. _Three on three,_ he thought. _Not bad odds._

"Retreat down towards the kitchen's exterior exit," he said, motioning for Alan and Parker to go. "Get into position out there because when I follow, there'll be three very angry hornets on my tail."

Alan gave a thumbs up as he rushed off, Parker on his heels. They both kept their backs low, dodging to and fro to escape the bullets, until they were out of sight.

Scott ducked out of cover to send three shots ringing down the villa hallway.

"You missed, Tracy," the large male – _Thorn?_ – called.

"Just give up," one of the women continued. "You don't want blood on your hands, do you? Because the way you're going, you're about to get someone killed – possibly yourself!"

Scott's response was another bullet, followed by a quick dive into a doorway on the other side of the hall.

"If you think we'll give up, you're crazy!" he said.

Steeling his nerve, Scott got ready to run. _I'm coming out, fellas, whether you're ready or not!_

Before his assailants had time to think, Scott had already bolted down the hallway, skidding left towards the kitchen. Their footsteps were thunder behind him and he thanked his brother for his bad manners, as the door was lying open. He leapt outside, his feet hammering on decking that was painted pale by the dying sun.

"Tracy! Give this up!"

It was a different voice this time, still hidden inside the kitchen. _Clearly, not dumb enough to walk into the firing line_ , Scott thought. He sought cover behind an overturned table and shook his head.

"Not a chance!" he called. "If you want us, you'll have to catch us."

He scraped to safety, a bullet skirting his ear, and found himself in the bush with his littlest brother.

"We need to keep them following us," Scott said, his breathing heavy. "Once we get to the Round House, we lock 'em in, bring down the storm shutters, and keep them that way until we know what else to do."

"Right," Alan said. "I'll be the next sitting duck."

He leapt from the foliage and waved his gun in the air.

"Hey! You want me? Come and get me you sons of bitches."

 **~oOo~**

Their feet were noiseless as they snuck towards the lounge. Neither Virgil nor Gordon spoke, for they knew exactly what to do. _I hope they're holding up in there,_ Gordon thought as he followed on his brother's heels. _I wish we could burst in now and take them out. But divide and conquer, Scott said. So that's how we have to play this..._

Unseen, they crept on silent feet until they were just outside the lounge. Gordon's heart was rattling his ribs as they flanked the entrance, still unseen but listening.

"Anything yet?" they heard Sunflower ask.

"I think so..." That was Lily. "Yes! I've broken through! The firewall's been disabled."

 _Brains' handiwork, no doubt_ , Gordon thought. _There's no way she could have bypassed the security systems. Very convenient that it's happened now that Brains is on her case._

Gordon looked at Virgil, who nodded, his thick eyebrows pulled together. _This is the perfect time to strike_. He counted down silently, using his fingers to unify them. _Three, two, one -_

"Yoo-hoo, assholes," Gordon called out as they leapt forwards. He poked his head around the ornate metal screen. "Who wants to play, huh?"

The thin man – Snapdragon? – did not take kindly to the insult. His nostrils flared and within seconds, he had his weapon trained on them. Behind the man's slender frame, Gordon could see the hard set to his father's eyes, the steel repose of Penelope's, the fury in his grandmother's, and worse, the tears in Tin-Tin's. In the same split-second he could hear Sunflower screaming for their capture, underscored by the children's cries. And worst of all, saw the bindings around John's wrists and he felt them burn his own. _Oh shit,_ he thought, _we need to fix this - fast._

Time sped back up as Snapdragon encroached upon them. Gordon turned and ran, not so fast as to lose the pursuer, but not so slow as to get shot in the back. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder. _Three. We got three. That only leaves four bogies left in the lounge. If all goes to plan, we should be able to take them._

Should, of course, was a dangerous word.

Weaving and ducking, they barrelled down into the bowels of the villa, passing the gunshot holes that peppered the walls. More shots rang out and Gordon took a hard left, Virgil skidding round behind him. They burst out onto the kitchen deck and headed for the path that curved through the rock and jungle, out towards the Cliff House. They ducked behind a boulder set near to the path. The trio of pursuers stopped on the decking, glancing around.

"Where did those two idiots go?" Snapdragon asked.

At that, Gordon popped up from behind the rock like a Jack-in-the-box.

"Over here!"

Snapdragon's head twisted on his delicate neck, the vein on his right temple pulsing.

"You're dead!" he said.

 _Not likely,_ Gordon thought. With one last look at Virgil, they ran.

 **~oOo~**

 _Oh, she's taken the bait,_ Brains thought, his fingers flying over the virtual keypad of his tablet. _Time to have some fun…_

It was all quite convincing, of course. It hadn't taken long for Brains to throw up a partition, double-lock the precious data and throw down the firewall to let his hacker foe feel that little moment of triumph. And she had fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.

 _Well, my dear,_ Brains thought. _I am the spider and you are the fly – and you've just entered my parlour_. He tapped in a few commands, brought up some old, unworkable schematics from back in the very early days of planning for International Rescue, and placed them within easy virtual reach. _That should keep her satisfied for a while. And, as soon as the hacker accesses that file, I'll have all of her details. And better still, I'll have complete control over her computer system. At the touch of a button, I'll be able to shut the whole thing down. It's just a case of waiting until Scott gives the word. If I mark the files as 'TOP SECRET TB PLANS – NO TOUCHY' would she still fall for it?_ He chuckled. _Probably._

And then he wasn't chuckling any more. Because none of this was funny, not at all.

Because his friends had been captured. Because his home had been invaded.

And worst of all – because Tin-Tin was in danger.

 _I'm doing everything I can for you, Tin-Tin_ , Brains thought. _Everything I can…_


	12. Chapter 12

This was not the first time in Jeff Tracy's life that he regretted founding International Rescue.

The first time had been the incident with the Sentinel, when Virgil was nearly shot down and killed.

The second time was when Scott _was_ shot down in the Sahara and left for dead.

The third time was the Sun Probe mission, when he thought he had sent two of his sons and his almost-daughter to their deaths.

On each of those occasions, Jeff had been distant from the terror, lost in his regrets or elbow-deep in plans to bring his children back to safety. This regret was not like any of those regrets. This time, he had to watch as one of his sons was beaten half to death before his eyes, all on account of International Rescue.

"Tell me what I want to know."

Sunflower ground the words out, the sounds like stones between her yellow teeth. She stood with her hands on John's shoulders, facing Jeff. He didn't look at her. All he could do from his vantage point on the couch was watch the stream of red that fell like a waterfall from his son's crooked nose. John looked up briefly, his cowlick brushing his right eye, the gold hair turned to tarnished copper from the blood. Their eyes met for a moment, blue on blue, and Jeff pressed his lips together. He said nothing.

Sunflower pressed her fingertips deeper into John's shoulders.

"Tell me what I want to know."

Once again, as he had every time she asked that question, Jeff still said nothing.

Her nostrils flaring, Sunflower moved to John's right side and drew back her fist. She let it fly straight into his face, sending teeth and blood and spittle flying. A shard of tooth skittered across the floor, bouncing off the couch leg and landing at Jeff's feet. Tin-Tin whimpered, clutching Adam as she pressed her face into her father's neck. Penelope's face was like steel. Jeff's mother's was painted with fury as she sheltered Lyra from the danger.

Still, Jeff said nothing. He didn't so much as wince.

But inside… Inside he was a screaming. In his head, he had gone through a thousand ways to kill the woman with his bare hands. But outside, he did not react. Why? Not just because of his secrets. He was no so cold a man to allow his son to die on account of technology – despite what others may have thought.

Yes, International Rescue's secrecy was top priority. Yes, he had instilled in all his sons the idea that it was to be protected at all costs, that their technology in the wrong hands would spell disaster for the world and millions of lives would be put in danger. They knew it. He knew it. The damn birds in the trees knew it.

But.

Jeff had never counted on an invasion on home soil. He had never envisioned a scenario wherein one of his sons would be beaten to death in front of him, his mouth shut and his blue eyes screaming: _Don't dare open your mouth, Dad. If I'm staying silent, so can you._

Jeff curled his fingers into his palms until his nails cut like knives. He looked down at the little piece of tooth, so white, then looked back up again. Sunflower was standing with a dry grin on her face, her arms folded, one hip pushed to the left.

"Jeff, Jeff, Jeff," she said, shaking her head. "I'm disappointed in you."

John raised his head, coughed, spat blood. His cheeks were swelling and his eyes were blackening. He looked over at Jeff and gave the briefest of smiles. His front teeth were gone; only bloodied holes remained.

Sunflower walked away from John and towards Jeff, her shoes clicking on the hard floor.

"I thought you were all about saving lives," she said. "Isn't that the whole point of this operation? Aren't you supposed to stop suffering, remove people from dangerous situations? And here you sit, letting the rest of your family watch as dear, dear John suffers." She let her arms fall to her sides and turned them, showing him her palms. "Please, Jeff. Save a life. I will kill him. You know it and so does he. My men are out there, gunning down your other sons. Soon they'll all be dead, as will your mother, your friends, your grandchildren." She knelt down in front of him. "And then who will be left, Jeff, hmm? Just you. And by that stage, with so much blood on your hands, you'll be begging me to take your secrets. And I will. And you will have to live the rest of your sorry little life, knowing that you killed every other member of your family and in the end, I still got what I wanted. So, what do you say, Jeff? Just tell me what I want to know."

Jeff opened his mouth but it wasn't his words that were spoken. From behind, John started to laugh. It was high-pitched, eerie, a sound Jeff had never heard before. He watched the confusion play over Sunflower's face. She turned and they both watched the mirth spill from John's mouth along with teeth and blood.

"Are you serious?" he said. The words were thick, distorted. "You actually think you'll get what you want?" John's eyes were glassy but hard, like shards of ice. "You have no idea who you're dealing with, here. You could kill us all and Dad would never tell you his secrets. _Never_. And you know why?"

A few tears leaked down his son's battered face. They weren't tears of sorrow, Jeff knew. They were distilled fury.

Sunflower stood and walked back to John, placing her hands on her hips and bending until her face was nose-to-nose with his.

"Please, do enlighten me," she said.

John closed his eyes for a moment. Then they were open again and blazing.

"For many years now, man has worked to protect the material things in this world. And he's done pretty well for himself _._ "

Suddenly, Jeff was transported away from the danger, the disaster, and it was the day of the Ocean Pioneer II rescue, and John's voice was his own.

"If a building falls down, he can soon build it up again. With life, it's different. And this is why the object of International Rescue will never change."

" _Our_ job is to save lives that are in danger. And that's how it's gonna be. Always." Then Jeff was back in the lounge and John was shaking his head. "Don't you understand, _Sunflower_?" The word came out as a sneer. "Ultimately, our lives are forfeit." John said, red bubbling from the sides of his mouth. "If you get our technology and sell it to some warlord – or two warlords on opposite sides of a battlefield, what will happen next? Millions could die. _Millions_. And I know that my father would give my life, would give his own life, to protect others. That's what we do." John raised himself up until his back was straight. His bound hands clutched the arms of the chair. "So have you got it now? Do you understand how completely futile all of this has been? _You will never get what you came for._ "

Never before had Jeff been prouder than one of his children. Not even gold medals or trophies could trump that. It was dedication to the cause. It was dedication to _him_.

Sunflower was very still for a moment. When she eventually spoke, there was a tremor in her voice.

"You know, John Tracy," she said, her nose still right up to his, "you've annoyed me now. I'm surprised Grace Thomas didn't kill you within the first week of having your most _irritating_ presence in her house." Sunflower brought her lips to John's ear but didn't whisper. Jeff could hear everything. "I'm glad she abused you," she said. "But clearly, she didn't do it right. If she had, you'd be quivering in a corner now." She chuckled. "You seem to see things very clearly. Too clearly, perhaps. I'm going to do something about that."

She turned to face Jeff. He remained defiant.

"Give me what I want," she said.

Jeff did give her an answer, this time. Just one word.

"Never."

Sunflower's nostrils flared and she shook her head.

"Remember, Jeff. This is _your_ fault."

With impossible speed she turned back and within half a second her arms were up, elbows spread wide, and from the set of her shoulders and the screams of his son, Jeff knew what she was doing: working at his face, making sure he would never see again.

"Jeff, do something!" his mother screamed. "She'll kill him!"

 _Forgive me,_ Jeff thought. _Everyone, forgive me_.

 **~oOo~**

Malaya turned to face Jeff, sick of looking at the blond's blood-streaked face. It had been handsome before she started her work. It would be a masterpiece of pain by the time she was done.

"Give me what I want," she said.

And this time, Jeff did open his mouth. Only one word came out.

"Never."

Nostrils flaring, Malaya tried to bring her fury under control. When she spoke, her words belied her fury.

"Remember, Jeff. This is your fault."

And within a heartbeat, she turned and unleashed her rage on the beautiful face in front of her. _You see so clearly,_ she thought. _Now, you'll never see again!_

Arms up, elbows out, John Tracy's screams were honey in her ears as Malaya pressed her thumbs inwards. He screeched so loud she almost didn't hear Lily's whoop of joy. It brought Malaya's thumbs back. Bloody tears were pouring down her victim's face.

"Sunflower, I've done it!" Lily cried. "I've broken in! I've got access to the plans!"

If only John had been able to see her smile. _Perhaps I shouldn't have done what I did_ , Malaya thought. _Well, I didn't get to finish anyway._ He was still screeching, roaring out his pain. The grandmother was screaming, too. When Malaya turned to look at Jeff, his face was chalk-pale.

"You see, Jeff?" Malaya said. She put a foot to John's chest and pushed, sending both the man and the chair toppling backwards. "This was your fault and it was entirely preventable."

The look of defeat in Jeff Tracy's eyes was ambrosia. Malaya watched as he went to his son, muttering apologies, his voice thick. Lady Penelope followed, untying the bindings and cradling John's head in her lap, her couture dress mopping up his blood.

None of that was of any consequence. Malaya turned from them and went to Lily's side, looking over her shoulder at the reams of data that were passing through the tablet screen.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes!" Lily's words were coming in excited bursts. "It's all here. Rescue One, Rescue Two… All the plans can be accessed."

Malaya leaned in, watching as schematics of craft and technology flicked over the screen.

"I thought the craft were named the Thunderbirds," she said.

"These are probably code-names," Lily replied. Then she looked over at the huddled mass on the floor. "Why not ask Jeff Tracy for confirmation?"

Malaya plucked the tablet from Lily's hands and crossed the room to dangle the schematics in Jeff's face.

"Well?" she asked. "Is this what your darling son has lost his sight for? I would ask him but…" She chuckled. "That's self-explanatory."

So many emotions played over Jeff's face. There was anger, despair, hopelessness… Finally, he became a study in defeat. His shoulders slumped and he bowed his head.

"…yes."

Malaya tapped the top of his head with the pad and tutted.

"I told you I would get what I wanted, Jeff," she said as victory rolled over her. "We could have spared so much heartache, so much pain, if you had just trusted in my word."

"No! She can't have. No!"

With John's screams echoing in her mind, Malaya returned the tablet to Lily and gave her an indulgent smile.

"Good girl," she said. "Looks like you'll get that mansion in Lithuania after all."

 **~oOo~**

"You see, Jeff?" Sunflower said. She put a foot to John's chest and pushed, sending both him and the chair toppling backwards. "This is your fault and it was entirely preventable."

As soon as his son hit the ground, Jeff was on his feet, all thoughts about International Rescue's secrets forgotten for a moment. Then he was kneeling by John's face, watching as his son's eyes streamed with blood, their whites gone red. He was jerking and wrenching against the bindings. Jeff's hands hovered, unsure whether to untie or not. _The less he touches the eyes, the better_. Then Penelope was at his side, undoing the bindings and pulling John's head into her lap. His blood was soaking into her dress.

All the while, John was screaming. _My son_.

"All right, all right," Penelope crooned. She caught John's wrists before he could bring his hands to his eyes. "That will do now, shhh."

"I can't see!" His words were breathy, panicked. "What did she do to me?"

"She's rather injured your eyes, John," Penelope said. "But everything will be all right."

Jeff brought a hand up to place on John's face, feeling the five o'clock shadow of stubble grate under his palm, feeling the stickiness of the blood.

"It's okay, son," he said, casting Penelope a thankful gaze. _How can she be so calm?_ "It's okay."

What else could he say?

"Lyra," John said, trying to wriggle free. Penelope kept him locked in place. "Is Lyra okay?"

"She's fine," Grandma Tracy called out. "We're all fine."

Her voice wobbled with tears and it only made John try to rise.

"Stay down," Jeff said, more gruffly than he had intended. He softened his tone at Penny's glare of disapproval. "You're injured. Just stay calm. We'll get help soon."

"The others?"

"Nothing new so far," Jeff said.

They knew all about Scott's plans. _Divide and conquer_. It explained why Gordon and Virgil had briefly reappeared.

"But she said, the other one, the hacker," John panted, "she said she broke through." There was desperation in his voice. "She _can't_ have. Not after all this. She just _can't_."

"I know, son, but –"

Before Jeff could say anything further, his watch began to vibrate. _More code – from Brains!_

 _TWINS ON WAY TO ISLAND. HAVE SET TRAP FOR HACKER. PLANTED FAKE PLANS. PLAY ALONG IF NECESSARY._

"Good old Brains," he whispered.

Penelope gave him a raised-eyebrow stare, asking for explanation.

"Brains has set a trap for our hacker," he said. "Play along."

Jeff turned his head to listen to the tail-end of Sunflower and Lily's conversation.

"Why not ask Jeff Tracy for confirmation?"

In response, Sunflower grabbed the tablet and stalked towards them, only stopping when the computer was right in Jeff's face.

"Well? Is this what your darling son has lost his sight for? I would ask him but…" She chuckled. "That's self-explanatory."

So many emotions played over Jeff's heart. There was fury, muted joy, relief… _They aren't the right schematics_ , he thought. Carefully, he made himself into a study of defeat. His shoulders slumped and he bowed his head.

"…yes."

Jeff gritted his teeth as she tapped the top of his head with the tablet.

"I told you I would get what I wanted, Jeff," she said. "We could have spared so much heartache, so much pain, if you had just trusted in my word."

She turned on her heel and left. John's chest was rising and falling with ragged gasps.

"No! She can't have. No!"

Jeff brought his lips down to John's ears to muffle his whisper.

"Don't react to what I'm about to say. Understood?" John nodded. "They aren't the real plans. Brains has planted a set of dummy schematics. Say nothing."

He drew away. Tin-Tin, Kyrano and his mother were all looking at him, desperation in their eyes. They didn't know that the plans were fakes. For all they knew, Sunflower had her spindly fingers all over International Rescue's secrets.

"Everything is going to be fine," he said, trying to lace his words with the essence of what he couldn't say. "Trust me."

He returned his attention to John and ran his fingers through the bloodied strands of hair. _Come on, boys,_ Jeff thought. _We're running out of time_.

Soon enough, the ancient plans would be downloaded and, old or not, they still contained the seeds of their precious technology. He couldn't permit Sunflower to leave with even that.

Worse still, John was broken and bleeding, his eyes ravaged. _And who knows what damage has been done?_

From across the room, Sunflower caught his gaze and smirked. Never before had Jeff Tracy considered murder. But the temptation, now, was hard to resist.


	13. Chapter 13

"Well, Master Scott," Parker said as the Round House came into view over the crest of the hill, "I 'ope these ruffians don't start going through 'er Ladyship's belongings. She won't be best pleased if they do!"

Scott laughed, then weaved to the left as another shot rang out.

"I'd be more concerned about them going through _your_ stuff, Parker," he said, "considering that you smuggled a shotgun onto the island the first time you visited."

Parker leapt to the right and pressed himself flat against a thick tree trunk, before turning to fire off another few shots at their pursuers.

"Well, I didn't know what to h'expect," he said, sounding indignant even in the midst of danger. "You can't be too careful, you know."

 _I do know_ , Scott thought as he leapt across the path to Alan's side. _If we had searched their plane, none of this would have happened. I guess we were all too caught up in the excitement of the day_.

Alan reloaded his gun and frowned.

"I'm down to my last nine bullets," he said.

"Make sure they count then, boy," Scott said, clapping him on the shoulder. "We're nearly done with this. Since you're down on ammo, go ahead and get ready to hit the storm shutter controls."

Alan nodded.

"I'll use the external control box." He went to leave but stopped, turning back. "Those shutters don't come down quickly. I'll have to start them before you're ready to get out. You'll need to move quickly. If you get stuck in there…"

"It'll be a kill zone," Scott said, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "Let me worry about that, Alan. Now go."

With a quick nod, Alan turned and headed towards the external storm shutter controls. He disappeared as he crested the hill. Scott flattened himself against the tree they had been sheltering behind and closed his eyes. He breathed in slowly a few times. _In, out. In, out…_

Then he sprang from cover again.

"You guys are so slow!" he called out.

Even from a distance, the rage was clear on Thorn's face.

"Do you enjoy pain, Tracy?" he shouted. "Because when I get my hands on you, you're going to be in a lot of it! Bloody Yank bastard!"

"Well, that's rude!" Parker called out. "H'ay don't think I should stand for that, if I were you!"

There was a mischievous glint in his eye and even in the danger, Scott gave a dry smile.

"He'll get his comeuppance," Scott said, turning tail and heading for the Round House as more shots rang out.

Parker was quick to follow as they approached the Round House.

"Once we get them inside, Alan will hit the switch," Scott said, looking over his shoulder. "If we enter from the west door and run counter-clockwise to the east door, we should be able to lose them."

"H'and if not," Parker said, "we can simply keep running around until the shutters are down far enough!"

The image of the two of them doing laps of the Round House, pursued by gun and knife-wielding maniacs, was like something out of a bad horror flick. Scott shook his head as his feet slammed on the steps that led to the west door. He brought his watch up to his face as he keyed in the access code with his other hand.

"Okay, Alan," he said. "As soon as I give the word, hit that switch."

" _But Scott, what if –"_

"Don't worry," Scott said, cutting his brother's sentence short. "We'll get out."

" _F.A.B._ "

There was tension in Alan's tone but there was no time for comfort. Scott let Parker pass as they slipped into the building.

"You're dead, Tracy!" Thorn called. The others were slowing down a little, though the bigger man ushered them on.

 _Those two can see the trap but he can't,_ Scott thought. _Well, it looks like they don't have a choice!_ Thorn was swearing at the two women, telling them in no uncertain terms to follow Scott and Parker into the Round House. _Here's hoping this plan works_ …

As soon as three sets of feet were pounding around the circular corridor behind him, Scott brought his watch up again.

"Now, Alan!"

Within seconds, piercing klaxons started to wail and the emergency lighting flicked on.

"What the fuck?" Thorn asked.

Scott heard their footsteps slow; he and Parker kept running. Then Thorn's voice thundered anew.

"Get those fuckers, _now_!"

But their pursuers' pause had bought them the time they needed.

"There's the door!" Parker said.

The storm shutter was descending over the glass door with a steady pace and when it was about half-way down, Parker wrenched it open and ducked outside. Scott was running then, so close to the door.

Then his luck ran out.

He heard the shot. He felt the impact as the bullet sliced through his shoulder, entering somewhere below his scapula. The impact jerked him forwards and he plummeted onto his front, just short of the open door. The floor greeted his face and Scott saw stars. He didn't feel pain at first, not even with a bullet lodged in his shoulder. But he could hear so clearly. There was the whirr and crunch of the shutters as they closed. Then the clattering of boots on the wooden floor. And, loudest of all, Thorn's deep-throat chuckle getting closer and closer…

 **~oOo~**

"Y'know," Gordon said as he and Virgil pounded down the pathway towards the Cliff House, "I wonder if Matt and Elijah will mind us trashing their apartment?"

"Given the circumstances," Virgil said, "I think they'll understand."

They had nearly reached their destination, the three pursuers hot on their heels.

"So what way are we working this?" Gordon asked.

Before he could answer, Virgil was cut off as a few shots were fired. The two brothers split to crouch behind tree cover. One of the bullets struck just above Gordon's head, shaving bark from the palm tree's trunk. _That was close!_ Gordon thought. _The sooner we put an end to this, the better!_

"I say we both go in," Virgil said. "You distract them long enough for me to get to the interior controls for the shutters. Once we're out and they're still inside, I'll override the mechanism from the exterior control box and lock them in."

"A distraction, huh?" Gordon asked. Then he shook his head. "Why am I always the bait?"

Virgil shrugged.

"You're good at it?"

Gordon tipped back his head and laughed.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he said.

So, with much aplomb, Gordon sprang out from his hiding place and waved his hand in the air, gun and all.

"Catch me if you can!"

A string of expletives followed as the two brothers headed for the Cliff House. The door wasn't locked, though even if it had been, it wouldn't have been a problem. Matthew had given Gordon the code months before.

As soon as they slipped into the converted apartment, Virgil disappeared to find the shutter controls. Gordon dove behind the island in the kitchenette, pressing his back to the cupboard doors, trying to wrap his head around the events of the day. _I can't believe this is all happening_ , he thought, keeping his breaths as slow and silent as possible. _And there I was, thinking the most exciting thing to happen would be Adam knocking over the cake!_

There was a flurry of sound and movement as the three pursuers entered the dark apartment.

"Where the hell are they?" one asked.

"I don't know… And I don't like this," another said. "Can you see a light switch anywhere?"

As they began to prowl around the apartment, Gordon felt his watch vibrate. It was Virgil.

 _READY WHEN YOU ARE._

With nimble fingers, Gordon sent a message back.

 _WAIT FOR MY SIGNAL. YOU'LL KNOW IT WHEN YOU HEAR IT._

He received a cursory _F.A.B._ in reply. Then Gordon closed his eyes, took in several deep breaths, before he began to creep around the counter.

The invaders still hadn't managed to locate the controls for the lighting and so the cover of darkness was on his side. He shuffled around the counter as a pair of light footsteps came towards him. He managed to evade being seen – and even made his way to the couch without being caught. He hooked his fingers underneath, trying his best not to crinkle the fireproof lining underneath.

Then, it was time to strike. Gordon took a deep breath.

"THIS IS SO _MINTY!_ " he hollered.

At the same time, he used all of his strength to wrench the couch upwards, flipping it over onto the glass coffee table – which shattered under the weight.

At that moment, Virgil hit the controls. The shutters began to come down. In the confusion following the scream and crash, the three usurpers were yelling, looking around for the source, their heads flicking in all directions as confusion enveloped them.

Gordon used his cloak of darkness to hide his retreat. Virgil flew past him and they reached the door – just in time to be spotted.

"There!"

Commotion followed as the two Tracys tried to escape, with the three cronies now heading for the door. Virgil managed to get out, and Gordon had one foot over the threshold when there was a snap from behind – and then pain.

"Argh!"

He stumbled forward as agony exploded from his left side. He fell face-first onto the concrete outside as Virgil shoved their attackers back. They fell like skittles and before they could rise, it was too late. The shutters had come down.

Gordon reached around to the source of the pain. He felt himself blanch.

"Gordon!" Virgil said, falling on his knees beside him.

Gordon's fingers touched metal. There was something jutting out of his lower back. He was no doctor but that felt dangerously close to his kidney. Pain rolled over him in waves as three sets of fists pounded on the inside of the storm shutters.

"Is that a knife?" Gordon asked, hissing through his teeth.

"'Fraid so, buddy," Virgil said.

"Well," Gordon said, closing his eyes and gulping, "I've been stabbed in the back before – but only metaphorically!"

He winced as Virgil tugged at the tails of his shirt, freeing it from the wound. Then he pulled off his own shirt and balled it up, using it to staunch the bleeding. Gordon's mind turned over and over with memories of their medical training. _Stab wound. Check the area, do not remove object, stop the bleeding_ … And Virgil was doing it all with ease. And it was very, very comforting.

"Now I know why all the girls fall for you on rescues," Gordon said.

His breathing hitched as Virgil put more pressure around the knife.

"Just doing my job," he said.

Gordon could turn around enough to see his brother's wink.

"You did good, Gords," Virgil said. "You're the best distraction I've ever seen. What the hell did you even do in there? And why ' _minty'_?"

"I flipped the couch," Gordon said, burying his face in his arms. "And minty? I wanted to confuse them – and I sure as heck was confused when Tin-Tin started saying that! It came from that pirate radio station, I think."

"Ah, the infamous Rick O'Shea," Virgil said. "Well, it worked. They were very confused – and so was I!"

The hammering still continued from inside the Cliff House and Gordon reached to take the rapidly reddening shirt from Virgil's hand. His older brother gave him a stern look but Gordon did not relent.

"You need to go override the controls to the shutter system," he said. "If they find the control panel inside, it won't take them long to figure out how to open them."

Reluctantly, Virgil nodded and relinquished the shirt.

"Keep pressure on that," he said, before rising and jogging out of sight to the exterior controls.

"Don't worry," Gordon called. "I'll sit _tight_. Geddit?"

 **~oOo~**

Thorn was encroaching fast. Scott wasn't sure what exactly was happening. But what he did know was that time was running out. Sprawled on his front, shoulder throbbing, crimson dripping onto the floor below him, he knew it was too late. _He'll kill me_ , Scott thought. A surge of rage exploded inside him. _I can't let this be the way I go out!_

Then Thorn was standing over him. Scott could hear his snarl, could smell the stench of his breath mingling with the scent Scott's own blood. Then he heard the click of a gun being cocked. _It's me or you, buddy_ , Scott thought.

With all of his strength, Scott swivelled around and brought his own weapon up. He discharged it just as he felt something grab the scruff of his neck. Everything was suddenly in slow motion. He was being dragged backwards, slipping underneath the closing shutter door, and just as the toes of his once-shining shoes clipped under the shutter, he saw Thorn's feet as they stumbled backwards. Then his body slumped to the floor. And the shutter closed.

Pain was surging through Scott's body in torrents now. The grip at his neck was released and Parker came into view, shaking his head.

"That was a close one, Master Scott," he said. "And h'ay do think you've rather ruined your shirt."

Despite the pain, Scott let out a curt laugh and propped himself up against the railings of the exterior staircase that led to ground level.

"My shirt would have been the least of my problems if you hadn't pulled me out," he said, panting. "Thanks, Parker."

"H'any time, Master Scott. H'any time."

Just then, Alan came into view, his face flushed from sprinting to them.

"Mission accomplished?" he asked.

Scott nodded, wincing as agony radiated out from his shoulder.

"They're all trapped in there," he said, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain.

Alan's face fell and suddenly he looked more twelve than twenty-four.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "What happened?"

"Don't worry, Alan," Scott said, trying his best to smile. "I got shot. But I'll be fine."

Alan was about to protest but Scott's watch signalled an incoming transmission. With difficulty, he raised his arm. He could feel sweat starting to bead on his brow.

"Scott here," he said.

Virgil's face replaced the numbers and hands. He looked almost haggard, his usually styled hair ruffled. And was that… _blood_?

"Virgil, what's wrong?" Scott asked. "Are you hurt?"

" _No, Scott_ ," Virgil said. " _I'm not, though Gordon's been stabbed in the back_."

" _And not metaphorically_!" Gordon quipped.

Scott hissed and squeezed his eyes shut as another wave of pain hit him. When he opened them again, Virgil was glaring.

" _Never mind_ me _being hurt_ ," he said. " _What's happened to_ you?"

"I've been shot in the shoulder, Virg," Scott said. "But I'm fine."

Virgil shorted and shook his head.

" _You're as fine as Gordon is,_ " he said. " _Which, in truth, is not very!_ "

Scott winced as he pulled himself a little more upright and shook his head.

"Forget that for now," he said, trying not to grit his teeth. "We've succeeded in dividing. Now it's time to conquer."

" _I_ concur," Gordon said, " _but I don't know how much help I'll be. I'm not convinced I'll be able to move around easily with a knife jutting out of my back._ "

As much as he hated to admit it, Scott knew he was in the same position.

"I think I'll have to sit this out as well," he said. "But we still have Virgil, Alan and Parker on the outside – not to mention dad, John, Tin-Tin and Kyrano on the inside."

"And 'er Ladyship," Parker said, his tone indignant.

" _Not forgetting Grandma_ ," Virgil said. " _By now, she'll be mighty pissed off. I wouldn't want to be in her way…_ "

" _Last I saw, John was tied to a chair_ ," Gordon said, all mirth now gone from his voice. " _He might not be able to help_."

"You'll still have the advantage," Scott said. "Not to mention the secret weapons on the roof." He sucked a breath through his teeth and groaned. "Virgil, you'll have to take over co-ordination for me. Get in contact with the twin and see if they're in position. Rendezvous with Alan and Parker. Then strike – hard and fast. Overpower the captors so we can get them the hell off our island."

Virgil nodded and gave Scott a brief salute.

" _F.A.B_.," he said. " _I'll send medical aid as soon as I can. Just sit tight_."

Virgil's face disappeared from the screen and Scott lowered his arm. Alan placed a hand on his stricken brother's uninjured shoulder.

"Are you gonna be alright?" he asked.

"Yeah," Scott said, "but the sooner you get down there, boy, the sooner we can get out of this mess. So get going."

Alan nodded and then, without another glance backwards, he and Parker started to run back towards the villa.

Scott leaned back against the rails again as someone started to pound on the shutters from the inside. There was muffled screaming, though he couldn't make out any of the words.

 **~oOo~**

From their hiding place on the villa roof, Elijah and Matthew could hear much of what was going on. There were far off gunshots, there were screams from the lounge underneath them that made their skin crawl. One particular scream had almost sent Elijah into a rage. _Calm down, sibling,_ Matthew had thought, settling a hand on Elijah's forearm. _Going in all guns blazing now won't help matters. It won't help John_.

Matthew tightened his grip on the rifle he had plucked from the arsenal on Thunderbird Two. Their journey from Mateo on Thunderbird Four had been swift and silent. Thus far, no one had seen them.

" _Twins from Virgil_."

Matthew raised his watch to activate the communicator.

"Melijah here," he said, keeping the volume of his voice low

Elijah gave him a deathly glare.

" _We've managed to successfully pen in six of the bogies_ ," Virgil said. His face was dipping in and out of the screen as he ran. " _ETA to the villa is about two minutes for me and three for Alan and Parker. Scott and Gordon are injured._ "

"Badly?" Elijah asked.

" _Scott's been shot and Gordon's been stabbed_ ," Virgil said. " _They're both stable for now but the sooner we get aid to them, the better_. _Are you guys ready?_ "

Matthew nodded.

"Not just ready," he said. " _Armed_ and ready. We may have borrowed a few _select_ items from Thunderbird Two."

" _Today, I'll let it slide_ ," Virgil said, " _especially since Gordon and I partially trashed your apartment and have locked three people inside it._ "

Matthew blinked a few times and shook his head.

"Well, sure it's only stuff," he said. "Anyway, just say the word and we'll swoop in to save the day, Batman style."

Virgil allowed himself a brief chuckle.

"I'll let you know," he said.

Then his face disappeared from the watch and Matthew lowered his arm again. He looked at Elijah; there was a new tightness to his twin's lips. _Soon_ , he thought. _We'll get to them soon…_


	14. Chapter 14

As Lily continued to extract the golden information, Malaya surveyed her work with a smile. The remaining members of the extended Tracy family huddled together. They were ringed in the scarlet she had extracted from one of Jeff's beloved sons.

John was still lying on the ground, his face mauled, his head cradled in Lady Penelope's lap. _Oh dear, oh dear,_ Malaya thought as she walked back towards the macabre scene. _And this could have been prevented so easily_.

As she reached them, she saw Jeff stiffen. He was like a cornered tomcat, hackles raised and claws out. And yet he could do nothing.

"How are you doing there, John?" Malaya asked. "Do you hate your father yet, even just a little bit?"

Through the haze of agony, John managed to utter something that was probably an expletive. Malaya chuckled.

At that, the bride handed off her son to her father and stood. _Tin-Tin_ , Malaya thought. _Let's see what you have to say for yourself._

Tin-Tin brushed down the front of her wedding dress, the lace and voile destroyed by blood and despair. She had kicked off her heels and Malaya shook her head. The woman was tiny. And yet she still stalked over, standing on her tip-toes to try to shove her face in Malaya's.

"Don't you dare speak to him!" Tin-Tin said, jabbing a finger at her. "He doesn't deserve this. None of us do!"

Malaya gently raised a hand to cup the other woman's cheek, though Tin-Tin jerked away. At that, Malaya's right hand struck like a cobra, grabbing Tin-Tin by the forearms. There was an outcry; even the child started to wail for his _mama_. But they needn't have worried. Tin-Tin pulled herself free with a strength that belied her size and stepped back. But she kept her eyes on Malaya's, never breaking the gaze.

"Oh, Tin-Tin," Malaya said, sighing. "Of course none of you deserve this. It's not about inflicting pain and suffering. It's about survival of the fittest. It's about looking out for oneself."

"And what about compassion?" Tin-Tin asked. "What about care for your fellow man?"

Malaya started to walk, completing a full circle around the haggard bride. Jeff was still poised for a fight, though Malaya gave him a warning stare, thumbing the hilt of her knife. _I will kill her_.

"Where do you come from, Tin-Tin?" Malaya asked. "Where were you born?"

Tin-Tin was caught off-guard by the question. Her delicate features creased with confusion.

"Malaysia," her father said from his seat on the couch. "We are from Malaysia."

Malaya turned her attention to him and folded her arms.

"And why did you leave?" she asked. "Why did you not stay there?"

The father - _Kyrano_ \- shifted the child in his arms. Just like Tin-Tin, he kept his gaze firmly locked with Malaya's.

"My wife passed away," Kyrano said. "And everywhere I turned, I could see her. Everything was painted with her memory. And it became too much."

"Father," Tin-Tin said, scowling, "you don't have to tell this witch anything."

Kyrano bowed his head in acknowledgement but continued regardless.

"I knew that if I stayed there, my daughter's life would be dominated by a father who could never stop mourning. I could not allow her life to be marred like that, not after losing her mother. So we went to London and started a new life."

"Ah," Malaya said, wagging a finger. "You were looking out for your daughter. Tell me this, Kyrano. When she was younger, did you tell your daughter to do her best? Did you tell her to always overcome the odds, to never give up? To always work for a better life?"

Sensing where she was going with the line of questioning, Kyrano dropped his gaze.

"Yes," he said.

"My father was much the same," Malaya said. "We were poor - dreadfully poor. So poor it was a disgrace in our twenty-first century world. My mother died and that left just my father and my poor little self. He told me all those things. Every night for years, when we would curl up in our tiny shack, he would hold me close, pet my head and say to me, _'Malaya, you must do what you can to get out of this. I don't have the strength to go on forever. You must do whatever it takes to improve your life_.' And I promised him that I would lift myself from the gutter."

She turned to look at Jeff, who was glaring.

"Did you say those things to your sons?" she asked him. "I imagine not. I don't think they would ever have wanted for anything." She made a sweeping gesture around the ornate lounge and chuckled. "I can't imagine Jeff Tracy or his sons know anything about poverty to or suffering."

At that, she saw temper flare in Jeff's eyes. He pulled himself to his feet, his temper finally boiling over. Malaya took a step back, though she wasn't intimidated. How could she be? There were two guns trained on the back of Jeff Tracy's head.

"Do you think I just fell into this wealth?" he asked. His shoulders were shaking with rage. "Do you think someone waved a magic wand and gave us all this?" He parroted her sweeping gesture. "My father was a farmer," he said. "He drove a combine harvester. We were not rich."

"Right!" the grandmother piped up, shifting the baby to lie against her shoulder. "We were small town folk. We didn't have much but we never wanted much. We never needed lots of material things because we had each other, and then Jeff, and then Lucille, and then all the grandkids. That was how we bettered our lives."

Jeff nodded, the movement jerky. He raised a finger and pointed it at Malaya's face.

"I worked hard all my life, I started from the ground and worked my way up. I made friends - good friends - and I met my wife, and then she gave me five beautiful children. The wealth that came with my business successes was important, don't get me wrong. But you could have stripped that all away and set me in a combine harvester on my father's Kansas farm. As long as I had my wife and my kids, I would have been happy."

Malaya let one side of her mouth twitch upwards in a snarl.

"And where is your wife now, Jeff?" she asked.

He nearly laid a hand on her then. If it hadn't been for Tin-Tin's hand and a Lady Penelope's shout, his fist would have connected with her face. The room went silent and motionless, then. Everyone waited. Eventually, Malaya motioned for Rose and Tulip to lower their weapons.

"You are a scoundrel," Penelope said, passing a hand over John's pasty forehead. The man seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness now. "Experiencing suffering in your life does not give you permission to inflict it upon others."

Malaya aped a curtesy and shook her head, snorting.

"And what would you know about suffering?" she asked. "You're just another rich bitch, born into luxury. You've probably never worked for anything in your life."

Instead of lashing out, Penelope swept some of John's blood-crusted hair to the side of his face. Then she looked up, her expression perfectly calm.

"I might not have experienced financial suffering, as you have," she said, "but that does not mean I have not suffered." She paused for a moment as John shifted and moaned. When he settled, she continued. "My parents are dead. They were murdered in our home - the home that I still live in. And every time I walk those halls, or look at their pictures, I am reminded of that day." She breathed in deeply. "I watched as my father took a bullet to the head in front of me. My mother shielded me with her body as she was riddled with lead, then rubbed blood on my face and told me to pretend to be dead. And as I pretended, she really did die.

"And why did this happen?" Penelope asked. Her eyes darkened. "All because of wealth and riches. Someone with nothing wanted to take what we had. But they took away something far more important. They took away my entire family. So don't presume to say that I have not known _suffering_."

Malaya pretended to wipe a few years from her eyes, before she snorted again.

"Poor Penelope," she said. "And poor Jeff. Poor everyone!" She clapped her hands together in front of her chest. "How tragic, we all are!" Then she let her arms drop. "I don't care about your stories. I don't care about your suffering. My father taught me to look out for myself and that is exactly what I will do."

"Did your father teach you to steal?" Tin-Tin asked, her hands grasping fistfuls of her dress. "Did your father teach you to _murder_?"

Malaya returned all her attention to the young bride. She folded her arms, leaning all her weight on one hip.

"He taught me to do whatever it took to get by," she said. "My father died because he refused to take the life of the man who tried to kill us. I had given him the advantage, had brought the man to the ground. But my father would not kill him, even as I screamed for him to do it. And so we left him lying on the ground, languishing in the mud. Or so we thought. He plucked up the knife and threw it - and it hit my father squarely in the back. And he died."

Malaya took in a few deep breaths as memories of the darkest of nights washed over her anew.

"I went back to the man who had taken my father from me," she continued, "to the man who had taken away the last thing I had in the world. And I slit his throat. I was only sixteen, yet already a murderer. My father didn't teach me to kill but he did teach me that you have to be prepared to do anything, even take a life, to preserve your own."

She turned her attention back to Jeff, whose blue eyes were glinting like cold steel.

"You should take a leaf from his book," Malaya said. "Had you just given me what I wanted, even if it put others in danger, you would not be in the position you are now, watching as your son slowly dies. It is all your fault. I hope you live a long life, so that you carry that knowledge around with you for many, many years." She smiled. "You deserve to suffer."

Before anyone else could speak, Kyrano stood, still holding his grandson.

"No," he said. "Jeff Tracy does not deserve to suffer. He is one of the greatest men I have ever had the pleasure to know. But even stripping all that away, he still does not deserve to suffer. No human being does. Not even you."

He gave a little bow. The compassion in his voice made Malaya's blood boil. Flashes of her father came back. _Do whatever you need to do to survive,_ he had said. But was there more to it? Had he cautioned her to temper her actions with compassion? Malaya knew the answer.

No. He never had.

In one moment, many things happened. The chaos returned as Malaya reached for the knife at her waist, having every intention to cut the compassion out of the old man.

At the same time, Jeff raised his watch to his face and screamed, his face awash with a manic fury.

" _NOW_!"

 **~oOo~**

"And where is your wife now, Jeff?" Sunflower asked with a snarl.

Jeff was glad for Tin-Tin's hands on his arm and for Lady Penelope's shout. His fingers flexed and his chest heaved as he tried to bring his temper back under control. He had never been quick to unleash his fists but the mention of his wife had been the last straw. _How dare she mention Lucille?_ he thought, shoulders still rising and falling as he fought to control his breathing.

Penelope was talking but Jeff's attention was diverted by the buzzing at his wrist. His temper dissipated, cooled by relief. It was Virgil.

 _MOVING INTO POSITION. NO SCOTT AND GORDON. TWINS ON ROOF. ETA ONE MINUTE._

As surreptitiously as he could, Jeff sent a message back.

 _WAIT FOR MY SIGNAL. AT RIGHT MOMENT WILL SEND AUDIO. BE READY._

Virgil's response came within seconds.

 _ARMED AND READY. AWAITING SIGNAL._

He then returned his attention to the conversation; Sunflower was recounting something about her childhood. _Tragedy does not give you permission to take the lives of others_ , Jeff thought. _Nothing does._

It would seem that Sunflower had a different view.

"You should take a leaf from his book," she said. "Had you just given me what I wanted, even if it put others in danger, you would not be in the position you are now, watching as your son slowly dies."

Jeff couldn't help himself. He had to look at John, lying on the ground, his once handsome face ravaged. His face was grotesquely bruised, his nose crooked and bleeding. Now, his eyes were enveloped in swollen skin as trails of blood crusted on his cheeks. _I'm so sorry,_ Jeff thought, fighting the lump in his throat. _I am so, so sorry..._

"It is all your fault," Sunflower continued. "I hope you live a long life, so that you carry that knowledge around with you for many, many years." She smiled. "You deserve to suffer."

Before he could speak, Jeff watched as one of his oldest friends stood up to face their captor. There was a quiet courage in Kyrano's gentle eyes.

"No," he said, cradling the child that had joined their families by blood. "Jeff Tracy does not deserve to suffer. He is one of the greatest men I have ever had the pleasure to know. But even stripping all that away, he still does not deserve to suffer. No human being does. Not even you."

Something about Kyrano's words affected Sunflower. For the briefest moment, confusion passed over her eyes and her lips tightened. But then the moment passed and her face was hard again. Her eyes remained on Kyrano but her hand went to the knife on her belt. And Jeff knew what he had to do.

He swept his watch up to his face, adrenaline coursing through him, and he screamed.

" _NOW_!"

The invasion began.


	15. Chapter 15

The lounge was filled with shouts and screams as the rescue party flooded in - including the twins, who leapt from above, swinging on ropes to smash through the tall lounge windows. The glass shattered in a hail as the two men tumbled across the floor.

Sunflower's eyes were wide and her two cronies were waving their guns around, unsure which direction to fire in first. Jeff dived across and swept Kyrano and Adam down flat on the couches as one of them pointed at the child.

He went to get his mother but she was already on the floor and crawling over to them. She slid a screaming Lyra under the couch for safety.

"Mother, stay with her," he said.

But it was a battle Jeff knew he could not win.

"Like hell!" Grandma Tracy snarled.

And then she was on her feet, and despite her age, she leapt for one of the women with the guns. Her eighty-plus year old frame may have looked frail but she brought her target straight to the ground.

"Get away from my family!" she screeched. "How _dare_ you!"

The element of surprise was firmly on Grandma's side, for the woman almost handed over the gun, her eyes round with shock. Parker was beside them, then. He flipped the woman over and pulled her arms behind her back.

"Most h'impressive, madam," he said to Grandma.

"Good to know there's still some spark left in me!"

Jeff's attention was diverted as his sons converged on the other captor. Virgil and Alan rushed forward to take down the woman, knocking her to the ground. Virgil pinned her head between his legs as Alan wrenched the weapon from her hands.

Jeff approached his mother and took the gun from her- and almost laughed at the look of disappointment on her face. Parker secured the second captive, sitting on her back.

Pointing his newly acquired weapon at Sunflower, Jeff smiled as she backed towards Lily, knife in her hand. The hacker was jamming the pseudo-keyboard of her tablet.

"Come on, come on," Lily said through gritted teeth.

"It's no use," Jeff said.

"You really think so?" Sunflower asked.

She was shifting from foot to foot, knife raised, every inch a cornered animal. Jeff felt his resolve steel again. _Cornered animals are at their most dangerous_ , he thought. _Time to end this._

Slowly, he brought his watch up to his face.

"Brains, shut it down."

Sunflower's face creased with confusion as she watched him talk to his watch. Then her attention was firmly diverted.

"No, no, _no_!"

Sunflower wrenched around in time to see the screen of the tablet flicker. The precious information disappeared into a haze of static, before being replaced by a simple message that blinked slowly, almost lazily.

 _NOT TODAY._

Animalistic and enraged, Sunflower returned her attention to Jeff.

"I'll still kill you," she snarled, brandishing her knife around the room. "I'll kill all of you with my bare hands!"

Then another voice interjected. Jeff turned. Its tone was eerily calm.

"Who did this?"

It was Elijah, kneeling over John, his head bent. Tin-Tin laid a hand on his arm. Jeff's attention was brought back to Sunflower as she sneered.

"I did," she said. "And I'll do it to all of you. I'll take every single one of your lives if I have to!"

Then she turned, wrenching Lily by the neck, holding the knife to her jugular.

"Sunflower!"

"Shut up, you stupid bitch," Sunflower said. Then she looked at Jeff again. "Another life to save or another potential death on your hands, Tracy. Make your choice. Let me go or I kill her. Then I'll finish what I started with John. Then, the rest."

Her arm was shaking but her chin was held upright, defiant.

Then Jeff heard a growl of fury and rage unlike anything he ever had before. Within seconds, Sunflower and Lily had been thrown to the ground. Lily rolled and scurried away, for she was not the target. Sunflower was.

"I'll _kill_ you!"

It was Elijah, rage turning him feral. He was on top Sunflower for a moment, then they rolled. Time slowed and Jeff watched as they landed punches on one another, clawing and scratching, a ball of primal hate.

There was screaming from around the room. Sunflower's cronies were trying to free themselves but to no avail. Parker and Virgil held them tight. Alan sprinted across to Lily and grabbed her arms, pulling them behind her back as she screamed.

Tin-Tin, Kyrano and Grandma had the babies. Penelope was shielding John.

And kneeling on one knee, a rifle trained at the brawl, Matthew was poised to strike.

Elijah twisted Sunflower around, grabbing her by her short hair as she screeched. Then he had an arm around her neck, immobilising her. He said something but Jeff couldn't hear. She responded and Elijah tightened the grip around her neck.

Then Jeff heard the gunshot.

 **~oOo~**

" _NOW!_ "

Within half a second, the windows had been blown in and there were men coming from all directions. _What is this?_ Malaya thought as her eyes roved around the room. _How is this possible?_

Glass had shattered like diamonds across the floor, glittering in the lamplight. Everything happened so fast. First, Rose was taken down. _By the old woman, of all people!_ Then Tulip was pinned by two of the Tracy sons.

Then Jeff was pointing a gun at her.

Malaya backed away, unsheathing her knife and brandishing it at them. Her heart was pounding as she reached Lily's side. The woman was hammering on the tablet.

"Come on, come on."

"It's no use," Jeff said.

He was smirking. _Smirking_. Malaya felt her rage pulse and she kept her knife raised, trying to hide the shake in her arm.

"You really think so?" she asked.

She couldn't think of what else to say. _Is this it? Am I ruined?_

Slowly, Jeff brought his watch up to his face. Malaya frowned. _Has he gone insane? What is he doing?_

"Brains, shut it down."

It was a communicator. _That must be how they have orchestrated all of_ this, she thought. She contemplated throwing the knife at his face but her attention was diverted by Lily's screech.

"No, no, _no_!"

Malaya wrenched around and saw the tablet screen flicker and disappear in a haze of static. Then a message came though, blinking with malevolence.

 _NOT TODAY._

It was done. The information was lost. _I am destroyed!_

She turned to Jeff again, feeling her nostrils flare as tears pricked at her eyes.

"I'll still kill you," she snarled, brandishing the knife at every one of them. "I'll kill all of you with my bare hands!"

Then a new voice cut through her rage.

"Who did this?"

It came from the redheaded man who was bent over John, one hand ghosting over his many wounds, not quite touching. Feeling a savage pride in what she had done, Malaya raised her chin and smiled.

"I did," she said. "And I'll do it to all of you. I'll take every single one of your lives if I have to!"

 _I need to get off this island alive,_ Malaya thought, _even if I have to kill everyone to do it!_

It was time to strike. In one swift movement she turned to wrench Lily by the neck, pressing the knife to her jugular. The other woman stiffened, then trembled.

"Sunflower!" she squeaked.

She sounded so surprised. _Why?_ Malaya thought. _Perhaps she actually trusted me._ It was a strange thought. It didn't last long.

"Shut up, you stupid bitch," Sunflower snarled. Then she turned her gaze to Jeff, raising her chin and trying to keep her arms steady. "Another life to save or another potential death on your hands, Tracy. Make your choice. Let me go or I kill her. Then I'll finish what I started with John. Then, the rest."

Jeff said nothing. He didn't get the chance. A bitter growl of madness sounded out.

She didn't see what it was but she could guess. The next thing she knew, they were tumbling to the ground. As her head struck the hard floor, she released her grip on Lily. The woman disappeared as Sunflower grasped for her knife, her fingers like frantic spider legs on the ground. Then the redhead had her by the throat, growling.

"I'll _kill_ you!"

The air was filled with screaming as Malaya ripped the man's hands from her throat. His breath was hot on her face and he smelled of sweat and smoke.

Using all her strength, Malaya turned the tables and flipped him. She straddled him, landing punch after punch on his face and neck, but then he turned them over once again. Each blow felt like acid on her skin. He wasn't a trained fighter, that much was clear, but he was driven by a rage that could only come from a parent. Or a lover.

 _Oh_.

That moment of clarity was her undoing. She lost control for the briefest of moments. He wrenched her upright, one arm around her throat, the other hauling her hands behind her back.

Then she looked to see an identical man kneeling across the room, a gun trained on her.

"You won't stop me," Malaya ground out. "I always get what I want."

She almost laughed at the futility of her own words. But the man did not laugh.

"Yeah?" he said. "Not this time." He tightened his grip on her neck. "All you've gained is a fool's gold headstone. You would never have succeeded. You would have been better off trying to steal the moon."

She didn't see the bullet. But she heard it. At the sound of the shot, she pushed against the redhead with all her might, hoping to thrown him into the path of the bullet. But his arms were like steel.

The last thing Malaya Ramos saw, hanging in her mind's eye, was an orb of fool's gold. It was dangling from her father's fingertips, just out of reach. _Dear Papa!_ she thought. _I tried my best!_

And what had she gained from her efforts? What had she achieved in her life?

A pyrite moon.

Nothing more.

 **~oOo~**

The shot rang out. Sunflower pushed against Elijah but to no avail. Jeff watched as the woman succeeded in throwing her head into the path of the bullet. He looked away as it passed into her skull.

Lily screamed, sounding like a banshee. Jeff turned to see her writhing against Alan's grip. But there was nothing she could do.

Then Jeff turned his head back at the sound of a body slumping to the ground. Elijah stood, breathing heavily, blood and gore splattered over his face, his International Rescue uniform destroyed. He brought his gaze up to meet Jeff and gave him the briefest of nods.

Jeff swallowed and nodded back. There was no joy in the other man's eyes, yet there was no sorrow either. Elijah's was a face that spoke volumes. _I had no choice_.

Then Matthew had crossed the floor to his twin, the rifle discarded, and then the two men embraced. No words were exchanged, no smiles. In the moment, they were simply there for one another. It was a kind of embrace Jeff had seen his own sons give each other many times.

For a moment, Jeff simply breathed. _It's over. It's finally over._ He looked at his watch again. It was approaching eleven p.m. _I'm going to have to call the World Government in on this_ , he thought, passing a hand through his hair. _It's going to be messy_.

Virgil jogged over, his face still pulled and stern.

"Father, we need to get help to Scott and Gordon right away."

Jeff's expression darkened.

"Where are they?" he asked.

"Gordon is at the Cliff House. Scott at the Round House. They've both been injured." He cast a look over his shoulder as Elijah and Matthew knelt at John's side. "John isn't in good shape, either."

Jeff gritted his teeth. _You don't know the half of it, son_ , he thought.

"I'll get on to the WG right away. They're going to need to send their people out to mop up this mess."

"They'll need to extract the captives and the body," Virgil said.

Parker coughed for their attention.

"Two bodies, I should say," he said. "H'ay think Master Scott was forced to shoot one of his attackers. I do believe the rogue is rather dead."

"I won't mourn for him," Virgil said, his tone cold.

Jeff nodded and started to walk to his desk.

"Virgil, Alan, go and attend to your brothers," he said, putting on the mantle of commander once more. "Tin-Tin, are you okay to go as well?"

"Of course, Mister Tracy," she said. Holding Adam, she looked down at her ruined dress and gave a tiny laugh. "I can't imagine this is worth saving now."

Penelope, who had relinquished care of John over to the twins, held her arms out to receive Adam.

"Grandmama, Kyrano and I will look after the children," she said, cooing gently as the child was passed into her arms.

"And I'll contact Brains," Matthew said. "He'll need to know that the situation has been resolved. Elijah should stay to stabilise John before he moves on to the others."

Nodding, Jeff sat down at his desk and surveyed the devastation around him. _And all for what?_ he asked. _Money? Power? In the end, all she got was a terrible death._

Gulping against tears, he opened a secure channel to the World Government.

 **~oOo~**

All he knew was pain. John's arms ached, his stomach ached, and worst of all, his entire face felt as though it was on fire. His skin was swollen up around his eyes, leaving him in complete darkness. He couldn't remember everything. He didn't even know where he was. All he was aware of, at that moment, was a sensation of movement and noise all around him.

It was as though he was rolling along on something. He couldn't smell anything but his own blood. His nose ached even more than it had the time Virgil had socked him accidently. _How did that happen again?_ he thought.

The sensation of movement stopped and John became aware of something else. There was a pressure on his right hand. It took a moment to register what exactly was happening. _Someone's holding my hand_.

There were more voices now, saying words he couldn't understand. But there was a tone he recognised. An accent that came from somewhere on a rocky Atlantic shoreline. The sounds sent a shiver along John's spine, and he imagined he could smell peat and sea salt.

And then he knew who it was.

"Eli," he said, his voice nothing more than a hoarse croak.

The squeezing of his hand intensified and the tone became softer, though John couldn't make out the words. He tried his best to squeeze back.

"…over?" he asked. "Is it…?"

He couldn't understand the response but the grip on his hand tightened. And somehow, even as John slipped back into unconsciousness, that made things a little better.


	16. Chapter 16

For the first time since its inception, International Rescue went offline. Truly offline - and they had been for four days. No rescue or relief operations would be carried out. It was a call Jeff had not enjoyed making and his hand had been partially forced by the World Government. They needed time to process things, time to investigate.

 _And what choice did I have?_ Jeff thought. _Three of my sons are in hospital and I need to ensure none of our data was leaked. And there are so many trails to follow! Who was the informant in the Essex police? How did that woman manage to manoeuvre herself into the position she did? And, worst of all,_ Jeff thought as he sat back, running a hand through his grey hair, _who were her potential buyers?_

There were so many candidates. Warlords, corrupt governments, terrorist organisations – it was impossible to count the amount of people who might want to get their hands on IR's technology. Jeff grunted. None of them wanted it for good reasons.

Turning from his desk, he reached for the bourbon. Jeff sighed as the amber liquid sloshed into the glass. But he didn't bring it to his lips. Instead, he sat in the darkened lounge, looking at the boarded up windows. Then he turned his head to look at the patch of floor where Malaya Ramos's dead body had fallen. It was at that point he brought the glass to his lips.

The World Government had swaths of data on Ramos. And yet, none of them had been able to predict her movements on International Rescue.

As a surge of rage passed through him, Jeff slammed the glass onto the desk, sending bourbon across the dusty surface like a wave. It crept out like a stagnant pool. In the darkness, it looked like blood.

Jeff turned his head again, his gaze coming to rest where the couches had once stood. They were gone now, tossed away with the rest of the debris when the World Government relief plane arrived. For the first time, it wasn't International Rescue who was providing the aid – it was them who needed it. Jeff hadn't wanted to look at those couches ever again. All they remained him of was blood.

Hands shaking, he reached for the bourbon bottle again. _That was the blood of my child,_ he thought. _The blood of_ three _of my children has been spilled._ And now they were thousands of miles away, lying in beds in a WG medical facility in Brisbane. On his way to liaise in person with his government contact, he had called in to see them.

Scott had been shot. The doctors said he would recover but with a slight loss of mobility in his left shoulder. _No sweat, Dad,_ he had said. _I'm just glad everyone is okay_.

Gordon had been stabbed in the back. Thankfully, the knife had missed his vital organs - though his left kidney had nearly bought it. _Relax, Dad!_ he had said, still grinning. _So I'll have another scar. I'll just add it to the collection!_

And then there was John. Jeff gulped the bourbon down and poured himself another. John hadn't said anything, for he hadn't been able to speak. _We're keeping him sedated at the moment,_ the doctor said, trying her best to give Jeff a supportive smile. _He has suffered extensive injuries to his head, face and chest. When he wakes, he's so distressed that he could do himself more damage. It's better this way._

The list of injuries made Jeff's stomach churn. Broken bones, abrasions, bruising, internal bleeding. And worst of all… Oh, the worst of all. His eyes.

Before Jeff could bring the bourbon to his lips again, there was a gentle hand on his arm. Jeff looked up and allowed Virgil to slip the glass from his fingers.

"Hey, Dad," he said, his tone so gentle. "How are you holding up?"

Jeff squeezed his son's had briefly before he slumped back in the chair.

"As well as can be expected," he said. "You?"

Virgil set the glass aside, shrugged and looked around the dark lounge.

"I've been worse," he said.

Jeff stood and passed around to stand at his son's side. The moonlight was glinting on a few stray shards of glass that had been missed in the cleanup. Part of the World Government's relief effort had been to provide a team to not only extract the prisoners but to help with temporary repairs as well. Soon enough, Jeff would need to bring some Tracy Industries contractors in to complete the rebuild. There was extensive damage to the interiors of both the Round House and the Cliff House, not to mention the damage to the lounge, too.

Jeff crossed his arms and shook his head.

"I still can't believe that this has happened," he said. "Never in all my days did I expect that we would be attacked on our own soil. It feels..."

"Invasive?" Virgil said. " _Appalling_?"

Jeff nodded.

"Both of those things. And more. I just..." Letting his arms drop, Jeff gulped against the lump in his throat. Before he knew what was happening, words were tumbling from his mouth, thoughts he had never truly voiced. "I can't keep putting you in danger. I can't continue to operate this outfit knowing that your lives are at risk." A single, silver tear escaped, running down his stubbly cheek. "I can't -"

In an instant, Jeff found himself spun around. He was now facing Virgil, whose hands were on his arms and whose eyes were alight with passion. It was like looking into Lucille's eyes any time he had suggested he give up his career with the World Space Association, or scale back his work with Tracy Industries, or wondered if he was good enough for his kids.

"Dad," Virgil said in that same stern tone Lucille had always used, " _stop_. We've all made our choices. No one forced us to do this. You didn't make us join the organisation. We all _want_ to be a part of this. Do you know how I felt the first time I pulled on that IR uniform? I was so proud, so amazed, that I could do something with my life that _meant_ something."

Jeff shook his head.

"But -"

He didn't get the chance to finish. Virgil grasped his father's arms harder, eyes flaming.

" _Yes_ ," he said, "I could have had a stellar career in engineering. Yes, I could have concentrated on my music - maybe I'd even be playing New Carnegie Hall by now. But none of that mattered as soon as that yellow sash was on my shoulder. You know why? Because, cheesy as it sounds, I knew that this was my destiny. That's how we all feel. And that's how you really feel. You're shaken up now. But when your head clears, you'll see. We _must_ keep going. Lives depend on us."

Virgil's voice cleared a hole in the fog of despair. Jeff hadn't even realised it had crept into his mind, sinking its insidious tendrils into his brain. But Virgil was right. Of course he was right. Jeff turned his face up to meet Virgil's gaze.

"Thank you, son," he said. "Of course you're right. We must keep going."

Virgil grinned, his whole face lighting up.

"That's more like the father I've known all my life," he said.

Jeff pulled Virgil in for a brief hug, hammering his hand on the broad plain of the man's back.

"I've just been wondering, since all of this happened, what your mother would say about it. What she would say to me, knowing that three of her children were in the hospital, all because of my plans."

"I know what she'd say." Virgil chuckled. "She'd say, ' _Jeff, life is like a bowl of roses-_ "

Immediately, he knew where his son was going with it. So Jeff joined in. Together they chanted.

"'- _you just have to accept that some days are filled with petals, and some are filled with thorns. But no matter what, a rose is always beautiful._ '"

Together, father and son shared a chuckle.

"I can still see her so clearly," Virgil said. "She would plant her hands on her hips and tut so loudly - it felt like _you_ were a kid, too!"

Rolling his eyes, Jeff nodded.

"Sometimes it felt that way!" he said. "Especially when I did something wrong."

"Like the time you waxed the car with her favourite sweatshirt?" Virgil asked.

Eyes bulging, Jeff's mouth gaped.

"How do you even remember that?" he asked. "You can't have been more than a few years old."

Virgil tapped his temple and grinned.

"I've got a good memory," he said. "And I think I was around six. Mom was pregnant with Alan at the time. Boy, was she angry!"

"It was worse than the time I killed the cat," Jeff said, wincing.

It was Virgil's turn for his eyes to bulge.

" _You_ killed Neptune?"

Jeff raised his hands.

"Guilty as charged," he said. "It _was_ an accident. I backed out of the drive and... Well, Neptune became one flat kitty." He winced again. "Don't tell Gordon."

Virgil shook his head and seemed to look at his father in a different light.

"So what else do I not know about?" he asked. Then he paused for the briefest of moments. "Please tell me that Buzz really did go to the farm and that he wasn't actually euthanised instead."

Jeff said nothing and gave his son a sheepish grin.

"Dad!" Virgil said. " _What_? Grandma used to send us pictures of him running around the fields and chasing chickens."

"It was their friend's Alsatian," Jeff said. "Buzz had cancer. I couldn't bring myself to tell you all he had died, so we pretended he went to live with Grandma and Grandpa. Your mother thought that telling you all would be a good life lesson - how to cope with grief or whatever - but you all loved that old mutt so much... I just couldn't."

Virgil leaned back against the desk and reached for the glass of bourbon. He knocked it back, squeezing his eyes shut.

"What has become of this world?" he asked.

 **~oOo~**

She sat in her father's garden, alone. On her lap was blood-soaked cravat. It used to be lilac. Now it was more maroon. Tin-Tin twisted the fabric around her hands and sniffed, gulping back against a sob. _Oh, John,_ she thought. _You poor thing._ She had spirited the cravat away during the cleanup, not entirely sure why she was doing it. But she had. And now she kept it with her as a reminder. Of bravery. Of resistance.

Of sorrow?

The moon slipped away behind an errant cloud and Tin-Tin lay down on the ground, staring up as pinprick stars were swallowed as the cloud passed by. She had always held so much affection for John. Right from the first time she had met him. He was the first of the Tracy brothers she had met. Their fathers were meeting, having struck up a strong friendship since meeting at Kew Gardens a few years before. John, seventeen, had accompanied his father on a business trip to London. Fourteen year old Tin-Tin had been smitten as he babbled on about universities.

"I'd always had my eye on Harvard," he said, pushing his blond forelocks away from his face. "But since Scott's going to do an intercalated degree at Oxford, it got me thinking that I should maybe look beyond US universities, you know?"

She had nodded at that, had felt her cheeks redden as he placed a hand on her shoulder as they crossed the road. They just managed to dodge one of the infamous red London buses. The way he tipped his head back when he laughed, the sound of that gentle purr… That was it. Tin-Tin was in _love_.

Of course, it was never meant to be. But that hadn't stopped them from becoming fast friends. They had been in constant contact all through Tin-Tin's education, John getting up at ridiculous times in the morning to help her with her homework, even contacting her when he was working for the WSA on the replacement for the International Space Station.

Once, it had passed over her dorms. The first thing she had done was to send him a message. _I can see you! 3_

Within half a minute, a message came back. _Your fly's undone._ And then, a few seconds later, after she really _had_ glanced down, another: _Ha! Made you look :-)_

Tin-Tin had made many wonderful friends in the Tracy brothers – and had even found herself a husband. But, in truth, she regarded John as her best friend.

She clutched the material tighter in her hands, twisting it into a narrow rope.

 _Husband_ , she thought. _Not yet. I should be married right now. But I'm not._ Hot tears slid down from the sides of her eyes, pooling in her ears. But she didn't reach up to wipe them away. _Everything has been ruined. The whole day, a disaster. Three of the boys in hospital, and only God knows what damage they'll be left with._

She couldn't hold it in any longer. Tin-Tin wrapped the coil of lilac around her hands more tightly and howled.

Her screech echoed into the darkness. She wasn't expecting a reply. But she got one.

"Tin-Tin?"

 **~oOo~**

He wasn't entirely certain but there was a high probability that Tin-Tin would be hiding in her father's garden. Brains pressed his lips together. _That's always where she goes when she's upset_. How many times had be found her there before? Because of Eddie, because of Alan – and worst of all, because she was angry at herself. _Those are the most painful times_ , Brains thought. _It hurts me to think of Tin-Tin hating herself_.

He heard it then, a scream like nothing he had ever heard before. _Tin-Tin!_

Brains took a sharp right, away from the pool area, and found himself at the garden arch. And there she was, lying in the middle of the grass, painted pale by the moon as it snuck out from the cloud again.

"Tin-Tin?"

At the sound of his voice, she shot up, clutching something to her chest.

"Brains?" she asked.

Her words were muffled by the tight throat of sorrow. Brains gulped and stepped forward.

"Y-yes, Tin-Tin," he said. "It's me." He stopped just in front of the archway, clasping his hands in front of his abdomen. "May I come and join you?"

Wiping her face, Tin-Tin nodded. Brains settled down on the grass beside her. Not knowing exactly what to say, he remained silent for a while. Tin-Tin leaned her head on his shoulder and Brains closed his eyes tightly. It was painful. But necessary. _That's what friends are for_.

"I'm s-so sorry, Tin-Tin," he said.

She sniffed and shook her head.

"It's fine," she said. "My wedding is the least of anyone's concerns – especially with IR non-operational and three of the boys in hospital. Really, it doesn't matter."

Brains shifted to take one of her hands – and noticed what she was holding. A blood-stained lilac cravat.

"But it d-does matter," he said. "It matters th-that you're in pain. It matters that you're disappointed. Your f-feelings about your wedding are just as valid as your w-worries for the boys."

Tin-Tin twisted the fabric around and shook her head.

"It seems so selfish," she said. "So many things are in a mess. So many problems need to be fixed – and stupid me is still sad about my stupid wedding!"

"Tin-Tin, l-listen to me," Brains said.

He grasped both of her upper arms to force her to look at him. When she did, her eyes were so round and liquid it made Brains want to weep. But he didn't. _I must remain strong._

"Tin-Tin, your wedding is not s-stupid and you certainly are not stupid. You mustn't say such th-things. Your feelings a v-valid and imp-portant. So if you w-want to feel disappointed, th-that's okay."

"Oh, Brains!"

She flung herself into him, wrapping her arms around his torso. Feeling grief well up inside him, Brains swallowed against it and returned the embrace, gently shushing and rocking Tin-Tin as she sobbed her sorrows out. _It's okay, Tin-Tin_ , he thought. _I'm here. I'll always be here for you._

They stayed that way for some time, locked in a hug that was for one of them, comforting.

For the other, it was an embrace of pain, of loss. _You can't lose something you never had,_ Brains thought.

But it didn't make it any easier.


	17. Chapter 17

Even one day in hospital was too much for Gordon. He'd spent enough of his life staring at ceilings and listening to the _beep, beep_ of his own heartbeat. He had been stuck in the Brisbane World Government medical facility for five days now - and that was _quite_ enough.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, the mattress crinkled beneath his weight. He hated that sound. It reminded him of catheters and nose tubes and all of the accoutrements he had been forced to use after the hydrofoil incident. _At least I can sit upright this time_ , he thought. After his accident, he had been on his back for two months straight.

But his ordeal was coming to an end. _Thank the gods!_ He and Scott were free to go, on the condition that they were released into Elijah's care back on the island. Gordon tried to turn around to look at his bandaged side but winced as his body objected. _Maybe not!_ he thought.

The WG facility was state of the art. They had given the Tracy brothers the highest standard of care - all top secret, of course. Gordon had tried to sneak out of his side ward to find Scott or John but had been faced with an army of guards. _Probably there to keep people out_ , he thought. _But in practice, they're keeping me in!_

He had been allowed to see Scott a few times, on the proviso that he was wheeled around by an orderly and didn't cause a fuss. _Moi? A fuss?_ But the nurses had clocked him straight away, labelling him as a joker. _Well, on the second day I did steal a marker and draw chicken pox marks all over my face... But I was bored!_

His eldest brother was recovering well and was far more noble and dignified than Gordon, of course. Scott had been rushed into surgery as soon as they had arrived. The bullet was removed and he was stitched up. _Good as new!_ Scott said. But Gordon knew that wasn't the case. With the damage to cartilage and muscle, Scott's shoulder would never be quite the same. _But he'll learn to cope,_ Gordon thought. _If I can learn to walk again, he can learn how to manage with a little less mobility in one arm._

Gordon's face darkened and he gripped the edge of the bed. He and Scott had, in the grand scheme of things, got off lucky. But they were not the only Tracy brothers in the hospital.

Only once had he been allowed to see John. In some ways, he wished he hadn't at all. _Nothing will ever wash away that sight,_ he thought. _Nothing_.

John was in an intensive care unit, all tubes and wires and monitors beeping. Gordon knew exactly how that felt. _You feel like a robot or a science experiment._ Memories of his own ordeal came back but he shook them off. Worse than all of the tubes and wires and monitors, though, was his brother's face. It was _ravaged_. Every inch of skin was a shade of bruising - running the full spectrum from red to blue to purple to green. And anything that wasn't bruised was stitched and covered with gauze. His broken nose was encased in plaster.

And worst of all. The absolute worst, were the bandages around his brother's eyes.

Rage bubbled up from his stomach and Gordon gritted his teeth. _I'm glad that bitch is dead,_ he thought. _She got what she deserved - may God and Mom forgive me, but she did_. It had taken a lot of cajoling to get someone to tell him what had happened. Eventually, when she visited, Tin-Tin had relented. She told him the whole story - about how John had been preyed on because Malaya knew about his ordeal at the hands of Grace Thomas, about how he had taken every punch and kick without spilling even a single letter of their secrets.

When it came to the eyes, at first Tin-Tin could not speak through her tears. Eventually, she managed.

"Oh, Gordon," she said through sobs. "That woman, that _vile_ creature, she stuck her thumbs into his eye sockets! And he screamed and screamed!"

She had collapsed into his arms and, despite the pain of his stab wound, Gordon hugged her as tightly as he could, his own tears dripping into her sable hair.

Jerking himself out of the memory, Gordon stood and walked to the window. He watched as doctors and nurses and porters crossed the quad. Some were walking, some were running. He gripped the windowsill until his fingertips went pale as milk. _I can't believe it,_ he thought. _After everything that happened to him last year, he doesn't deserve this. I wish it had been me..._

A cough at the door draw his attention. Gordon turned around. Then he grinned.

"What the hell?"

Standing in the doorway was Matthew, grinning like a madman - with an enormous blue teddy bear and a helium balloon.

"Surprise!" the Irishman said.

Gordon blinked a few times.

"Does that balloon say, ' _It's a Boy!_ '?" he asked.

Matthew walked in and pressed the teddy into Gordon's arms and handed over the balloon.

"It does indeed!" Matthew said. "I couldn't find anything else. Actually, no. That's a lie. I just got that one because I thought it'd make you laugh."

Gordon shook his head.

"And the teddy?"

"Everyone likes cuddly toys, don't they?"

Gordon was about to respond but thought for a moment, giving the bear a squeeze.

"Actually, yes," he said. "Thank you."

Matthew gave him a lopsided grin and pulled him in for a hug. Then, to Gordon's utmost surprise, he gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"I missed you, buddy," Matthew said.

Gordon blinked a few times again and brought his hand up to touch his face. _Wow._

"Now, come on," Matthew said, reaching down to grab Gordon's meagre case - supplied by Grandma Tracy the day after he arrived at the hospital. "The meter's running. We gotta go!"

A little dazed, Gordon followed as Matthew guided them through the maze of corridors and guards. They arrived at Scott's room to find his older brother ready to go, Grandma Tracy on his arm.

Scott raised an eyebrow at the gifts in Gordon's arms. He shifted his gaze from Gordon to Matthew and back again.

"Is there something you need to tell me?" he asked. "I'm all for more nieces and nephews but I never knew I had a _sister_."

Pulled out of his haze, Gordon shook his head and grinned.

"Well, Scott, sometimes there can be something right under your nose that you never knew was there!"

Scott kept his eyebrow raised.

"I _know_ ," he said pointedly.

Before Gordon could ask for clarification, he was swept into a hug by his grandmother.

"Grandma - too tight -" he said.

Regardless, the woman did not let go.

"I'm so glad you boys are getting out," she said.

"Me, too," Gordon said, extracting himself from his grandmother's embrace. "And I know we'll never be in danger again. I think I'm going to call you _'G.I. Grams_ ' from now on!"

Grandma Tracy waved the comment off, though she was grinning.

"There's life in this old dog yet," she said, puffing up proudly.

Then she reached for Scott's case. He protested, though Grandma batted his hand away.

"Grandma, I can still use my right arm," Scott said.

"Just because you can doesn't mean you should!" she said as she lifted the case. "Now," she said, her tone sobering. "We have one more stop to make before you go."

Gordon nodded and allowed himself to be guided out by Matthew. The little group trooped along the corridors, following the signs for the ICU. With each step, Gordon's heart felt a little heavier. After a few minutes and many twists and turns, they arrived at John's ward.

Through the glass wall of the little room, Gordon could see Elijah perched on the edge of John's bed. He was gently rubbing his finger in circles on John's upraised palm. His brother was pale under the bandages, his healing bruises still standing out in sharp relief against their whiteness. Gordon swallowed. Matthew put a hand on his shoulder.

"He'll pull through," he said.

Nodding, Gordon swallowed again.

"Yeah," he said. "But what shape will he be in on the other side?"

Matthew patted his shoulder before slipping over to the door. He went inside the ward and motioned to the others. When Elijah turned, Gordon almost gasped. The man looked haggard, his eyes sunken in purple pools. _That's love_ , Gordon thought. _Absolute love_.

After a brief conversation, Elijah nodded, leaned into kiss John's bandaged forehead, then left without looking back. One by one, the rest of them went in to say their goodbyes to their stricken brother. When it was Gordon's turn, he handed his balloon and teddy to his grandmother, then entered.

He plucked up John's hand and gave it a light squeeze.

"We won't be far away," he said. Then he turned to ensure he was alone, before returning his gaze to John's battered face. "You've picked the worst time to be out of action, you know. I really need your advice, brother-mine." He gulped as he recalled the sensation of Matthew's lips of his cheek. "I don't know what to do. I don't know how I feel. So don't you _dare_ check out on me, you hear? I need you to tell me the right thing to do."

Feeling tears prick his eyes, Gordon released his brother's hand, setting it down on the crisp white sheets, before he returned to the corridor. Seeing his reddened eyes, Scott slung his good arm around Gordon's shoulder.

"He'll be fine," he said. "He always is."

"I know," Gordon replied. "It just seems that life's a son of a bitch to poor Johnny."

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," Scott said. "Wasn't that one of Mom's favourite sayings?"

Gordon nodded and chuckled, smiling as he accepted the balloon and teddy bear again.

"Yeah. Well, by the time this is over, John will be able to give a Titan a run for its money!"

"Too right, brother," Scott said. He gave Gordon a final squeeze before releasing him. "Come on, let's go."

With one final glance at John, Gordon followed Scott down the corridor. But one person remained behind. Gordon stopped.

"Grandma?" he asked.

The woman tipped her chin up and folded her arms.

"I'm not leaving him alone," she said.

Gordon looked to Scott, who nodded.

"Dad's signed off on it," he said. Then he grinned. "As if he could stop her!"

"Too true!" Grandma said. Then she shooed them with her hands. "Now, go on. Get outta here. Matthew and Elijah can tell you all about the plans for their new apartments. We were out picking furniture earlier."

Gordon gave her a parting grin and a wave, then turned his attention to the twins.

"Apartments, plural?" he asked.

Matthew nodded and Gordon fell in step beside him.

"Yeah. The old one is completely trashed - holes in the walls and everything. The hallions you trapped in there really tried hard to escape! So your Dad said, since he would be bringing construction in anyway, he'd make us two instead of one. Think he might convert the whole Cliff House into a series of apartments - what with the growing family and all that."

"Right," Scott said. "With the addition of Lyra and Adam, things will need to change. Plus, who's to say Adam will be Alan and Tin-Tin's only child? We need more space."

At that thought, Gordon's mood darkened again. As the group exited the hospital building, the cool of the aircon gave way to the warmth of the afternoon. Winter or not, it was far from cold in Australia.

"That's another thing," Gordon said as he was ushered towards a waiting limousine - all blacked out windows and bullet proofing, no doubt. "Their whole wedding was destroyed. Poor Tin-Tin. She was so excited about it all."

The chauffeur hopped out and opened the door, then took the two small bags. Gordon slid onto one of the leather seats, marvelling at the plush interior.

"Well," Matthew said, sitting down beside him, "I had a few ideas about that. I wanted to run them past you all first, since you know her better. But I figured that, once things have settled down and are back to normal again, a little wedding party wouldn't go amiss."

His face lighting up, Gordon snapped his fingers.

"That's brilliant!" he said. He turned to Scott, who was smiling. "Let's make it a surprise - for both of them. Though," he added with a chuckle, "I think we'll do it all in-house this time."

Scott nodded sagely as the limo pulled away from the side of the road.

"Right," he said.

A new fire of excitement inside him, Gordon grinned again. _It'll give us something positive to concentrate on,_ he thought. _All we need is Dad on board - and for Johnny to come marching home_.


	18. Chapter 18

He was falling. Eternally falling into a narrow chasm. There were blades jutting out of the walls. Every few feet he got another nick, another slice. John wasn't screaming. _Why bother? No one would hear anyway..._

And then he wasn't falling anymore. There wasn't even a bump. He just found himself in the dark, sitting on a wooden chair, bound up by chains. The links felt thick, felt cold. One was around his neck, pressing against his throat. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake them loose. His wrists and ankles were secured and matter how he tried, he couldn't get free. _I have to get out_ , he thought, his breathing growing more erratic with each second. _I have to get out!_

 _Clunk_. Sudden light beamed down on him from above. John flinched, his eyes burning in the sudden brightness.

The chains gleamed in the spotlight. Now he could see that they were coloured: purple, blue, yellow, orange, white. Struggling anew, the metal links clinked and scraped as he tried to shake them off.

"It's no use, John Tracy."

There was a woman in front of him, about ten feet away. The light was too bright. All he could see was a black shape. But the voice. He knew that voice.

"Fuck you," he spat.

At unearthly speed, Sunflower was upon him, shoving her face in his, clamping her hands on his thighs.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" said said as her finger trailed higher.

Then she wasn't Sunflower any longer. She was Grace.

"My poor, poor John," she purred, turning to sit on his lap. "Always the victim. Always the weak one. The runt of the mighty Tracy brood." She brought her lips to his ear. "That's why I chose you," she said. "I could have had any of your brothers, but I chose you."

The voice changed and now, Sunflower was straddling him, stroking a hand down his neck. John tried to scream but no sound came out. He tried to wrench his wrists and ankles free but the chains bit harder into his flesh.

"I could have picked any one of you," Sunflower whispered. "Even your dear old dad. But I chose you. Do you know why?"

John pulled his head away from her but she grabbed his chin and forced it back. She was looking at him with a expression of pure loathing. Of complete disgust.

"Answer me!" she said.

Keeping his eyes on hers, John shook his head. Then she brought her fist down against his cheek. He heard the crunch of his eye socket shattering. Teeth scattered into the void like stars.

"Answer. Me. Why did I choose you?"

He said nothing. He lost a few more teeth for his obstinance.

"I'll tell you why," she said.

Sunflower grabbed the two ends of his neck chain and started to pull. Fire burned into the thin skin of his throat. His lungs started to smoulder.

"I chose you because, John Tracy-"

He closed his eyes but she pulled the chain tighter, commanding him to open them again. And when he did, what he saw nearly broke him. It wasn't Sunflower. It wasn't Grace.

It was _himself_.

He saw his own face, snarling and twisted, and watched as his own arms strained to pull the chain tighter.

"I chose you because you're _weak_ , John Tracy," he heard his own voice say. "Now _say_ it."

The pull of the chain relented. The pressure released, John took in great whooping gulps of breath.

" _Say it!_ "

Then the pull was back. Spots danced in his vision. And reality became abundantly clear. He was going to die if he didn't obey.

When the chain relented, so did he.

"I'm weak..." he whispered.

And then he was alone again. The chains were gone, the chair was gone, and so was the vision of himself. John touched his throat, feeling the betrayal vibrate within.

"I'm weak..."

He looked up. He was in the chasm again. But now he was at the bottom. The only way he could get out was to grasp the blades and climb.

 **~oOo~**

Gordon had been home for five days. Now, he found himself flying back to Brisbane again. It felt good to have the controls of a craft at his fingertips again. It was hardly Thunderbird Four but, he supposed, Tracy One would have to do for now. _Tomorrow, I may get the chance to take Four out again at last!_ For the following day, International Rescue would be operational once more. The press statement had gone out via the World Government. Now, all they needed was a rescue. _'Needed' sounds wrong_ , Gordon thought. _Not 'needed.' I guess 'if' is more accurate. We'll go out 'if' the need arises._

After checking the co-ordinates, he flicked on the autopilot and turned to the co-pilot's seat. Elijah was his only passenger and he looked exactly how he had for days: stricken. Not quite knowing what to say, Gordon fished in his pocket for a box of mints. They travelled from pocket to pocket, rarely being opened. This, however, seemed an apt moment.

"Mint?"

Elijah looked at the box and looked as though he was about to decline. But then he nodded.

"Yeah, alright."

Depositing a mint into Elijah's hand, Gordon popped one into his own mouth and sat back. His healing stab wound only protested a little.

"I wonder if he'll be awake today," he said.

Elijah shrugged, grinding the mint up between his teeth.

"It's possible," he said. "I think the hospital were to take him out of the coma yesterday evening. We'll see."

Gordon rolled the mint around his mouth and nodded.

"Yeah. It'll be good to see his eyes open again."

Elijah nodded; it was a tiny movement.

"I'm not sure he's going to like what he sees," he said. "He's pretty battered."

"Johnny's not vain," Gordon said. Then he swallowed the remainder of his mint. "Though, he's going to need a lot of care - both the medical and the TLC kind. At least we know someone who can do both!"

He winked. That managed to elicit a small smile from Elijah.

"He'll need a lot of dental work," Eli said. "Twelve of his teeth are gone. He only has his molars left. And they have no idea how bad the retinal damage will be. And they've reset his nose but it might not sit quite the same again."

Gordon tapped his own crooked nose and smiled.

"That's okay," he said. "We Tracy men suit the ruggedly handsome look. I mean, you've seen Virgil, right?"

Elijah allowed himself a brief chuckle.

"You broke your nose in the hydrofoil accident," he said.

Gordon guffawed.

"Yeah, that and just about every other bone in my body!" Then he sobered as memories started to lap against his consciousness in waves. "That was a terrible time," he said. "I thought I was going to die. I really did."

Turning to face him a little more, Elijah crossed his arms.

"What happened?" he asked.

 _I hate this question,_ Gordon thought. Seeing the other man's wince, Elijah held up his hands.

"You don't have to answer," he said.

"No, it's cool," Gordon said. "It's just... It was my fault. Partly, at least. I had left W.A.S.P but I was still doing a bit of test piloting for them. This was just after IR started operating. I was pushing the limits of the hydrofoil. They told me to stop but I kept going and -" Gordon mimed an explosion. "The craft was in pieces and so was I. The project was shelved and I spent the better part of a year in and out of hospital, learning how to walk again." He let his chin drop. "I felt so guilty, lying there, not able to speak, watching as my family sat at my bedside, every one of them devastated – knowing that their pain was my fault. Partly, at least."

Nodding, Elijah smiled.

"It's over now, though," he said. "From the medical notes, you made an unprecedented recovery."

"You read my notes?" Gordon asked.

Elijah nodded.

"I've gone through the whole medical history of everyone," he said. "It's all part of the job. I'm not just here as a field medic. Your father hired me to help look after the family health too. It was one of the first things he talked about. He's worried about your grandmother."

Gordon shook his head and grinned.

"Grandma is probably the fittest one of all of us. Did you _see_ the way she football-tackled that woman to the ground? I hope I'm that fit when I'm in my eighties."

Chuckling, Elijah nodded.

"Me too."

 **~oOo~**

There was a tube in his nose. That was the first sensation John felt when he started to come round. As consciousness returned, the sensations of IV lines and drains and god knows what else became clearer. He groaned and tried to shift in the bed. His body wouldn't obey.

"Hey, slugger!"

 _That voice..._ He knew that voice. The bright tone, the words clearly said with a smile. _Gordon? Is that you?_

His mouth was arid and his tongue felt like sandpaper on the roof of his mouth. But the sensation was different, regardless of that. He passed his tongue around his teeth - only to find that most of them weren't there.

And then it all came back.

"Hey, hey! Calm down!"

It was Gordon again. John could feel his broad hands pressing him back into the pillow. As hard as he tried, John couldn't manage to get his eyes open. When he spoke, the sounds were all wrong.

"Gordon?" he asked.

But it didn't sound like 'Gordon'. Without his front teeth, the 'd' sound was almost impossible.

"Yeah, it's me, buddy. And Elijah's here too."

John felt another hand ghost over his arm. He wanted to reach out and grab Elijah's hand but his body was still not obeying instructions.

More sensations started to appear. There was an overwhelming smell of disinfectant. _Hospital_ , he thought. _I'm still in hospital._ There was another smell, too. A sweet kind of scent. _Flowers?_ he thought. _Probably_.

Yet, he still couldn't see anything. He tried to reach up again; this time he managed to touch his face. Of course he couldn't see. There were bandages over his eyes.

 _Oh_.

He was consumed by a sensation of burning and utter violation, the screech of his own anguish - at first in his mind, then in his ears. He found himself screaming and screaming and screaming. There were multiple sets of hands on him and voices hushing him. Gordon and Elijah and someone else.

The sound wasn't the worst. He could see clearly in his mind's eye. He was bound to a chair by coloured chains and this time it wasn't Sunflower's thumbs reaching for his eyes.

It was his own.

 **~oOo~**

When John's body went slack as the sedative took hold, Gordon stumbled back and fell into one of the armchairs. He put his head in his hands. _Oh, God,_ he thought. _This is just... I don't even know what it is. It's just_ wrong!

Elijah and the doctor were talking - mostly medical jargon that Gordon didn't want to understand. He didn't need to understand the biology behind it. But he could understand the psychology so easily. _That scream. That anguish..._ He ran his hands up through his mop of auburn hair and gulped hard. _How the hell are we going to fix this?_

The doctor cast him a sympathetic smile before she left. Elijah perched on the edge of the bed, his arms folded.

"Not good," Gordon said.

Elijah nodded. It was a slow movement.

"Not good," he replied. "He's going to need a lot more than a reset nose and dentures."

He turned to look at John, lying prone and wasted in the bed. Gordon watched as Elijah's Adam's apple bobbed and the muscles of his jaw tightened.

"We'll see him through it," Gordon said. "We always do."

Then his temper flared and he slammed his fists down on the chair's wooden arms. Pain shot through him, though he barely noticed. Elijah's head had snapped back to watch Gordon. His arms were still tightly folded.

"There are assholes in this world who are worth, essentially, nothing," Gordon snarled. "There are extortionists, thieves, rapists, murderers... And yet someone who's never done a thing wrong in his life ends up like this, half-destroyed - probably inside and out!" He gasped in a breath and stood. His arms were trembling. "I thought it before, but now I'm saying it - for the whole world to hear." Gordon cupped his hands around his mouth and raised his voice. "I'm glad she's dead!" he shouted. "I'm glad Matthew killed her! And if I ever get my hands on Grace Thomas, I'll kill her too. You hear that, world?"

His shouts brought security and nurses barging into the room. Elijah slipped from the edge of the bed, motioned for the only stand down, before pulling Gordon into a hug.

"I know."

That was all he said. That was enough. At those words, Gordon dissolved as anguish took over him. _I'm glad she's dead and_ gone, he thought as Elijah's hands pressed into his back, squeezing him as if trying to excise all of his pain. _I just hope she hasn't taken my brother with her..._


	19. Chapter 19

Salt. He could smell salt. And seaweed. He could taste it, too. _Palmaria palmata_. Red seaweed. Also known as dulse. It had a kind of salty, nutty flavour – not something John particularly enjoyed. However, what he _had_ enjoyed was the chill of the Irish costal breeze and the gentle touch of a finger on his lips as he tried the odd food for the first time.

"Well?" Elijah asked.

John squinted as he rolled the strange flavour, the stranger _texture_ , around in his mouth.

"I think it's an acquired taste," he said, gulping it down.

Elijah had tipped his head back and laughed at that. The wind lifted a few of his bright red curls and they bounced. John reached a hand out to touch them. _So soft…_

His hand was caught and John found himself spun around, then pulled in for an embrace. _I'm so happy_ , he thought. _I wish I could stay like this forever…_

But then Elijah was retreating, being pulled back by some unknown force.

"Johnny!"

His words were swept away on the wind and he disappeared over the edge of the rocks.

"Eli!"

John ran to the cliff edge, the tips of his sneakers poking out over the edge. He should have been looking down into churning waves, their crests frosted with icy foam. But he wasn't. Instead, he was looking into the abyss again.

"Eli!" he called.

The name echoed all the way to the bottom. Yet he received no response. He shouted louder.

"ELI!"

"You won't find him down there."

John spun around. Everything was white.

The Irish coast was gone. There was no sound of waves crashing on the ragged shore. No smell of salt and seaweed. Nothing. The only other thing in eternity apart from himself was whoever the voice belonged to. A figure was walking towards him.

"Who are you?" John asked.

The sentence echoed out and back, repeating over and over. _Who are you? Who are you?_

The figure kept walking forward, seemingly in no hurry at all. Gritting his teeth and snorting, John started to walk towards it. Then he started to jog.

Then he started to run.

Everything changed. His surroundings kept spinning, kept flickering. The ground rose and fell underneath his feet, yet John kept running towards the figure, whoever or _whatever_ it was.

First he was on the island, then on Five. He was back on the coast. Then he was running from Grace Thomas's house in the Essex countryside. Then the Kansas farm. His old schoolyard. London. Harvard. Tracy College.

Desperation welled up inside him. It was as though he was two feet ahead of a tsunami and sprinting for higher ground.

His heart pounded. His breath came in ragged gasps. And yet he kept running, running, running…

"Where are you going?" the voice asked.

Again, the question reverberated into every nook and cranny of his mind. _Where are you going? Where are you going?_

No matter how fast he ran, he didn't seem to be getting closer. Was the figure not walking towards him, but rather _away_?

"Who are you?" he asked, his words hoarse.

 _Who are you? Who are you?_

He kept running, his feet slamming again and again into the hard ground. The voice cried out again.

"What do you want?"

 _What do you want?_

 _Where are you going?_

 _Who are you?_

The questions were coming in different voices now. Faces and figures started to swim into his vision, creeping in from the periphery. His grandmother. His brothers. His father. Grace. Sunflower. Even a twisted version of his own voice. They were all asking the questions, their voices mingling in a vicious cacophony.

 _What do you want?_

 _Where are you going?_

 _Who are you?_

And all the time, he kept running, running, running…

 **~oOo~**

A plastic cup was pressed into his hand. Gordon shook his head to clear the cobwebs and accepted the lukewarm coffee. It was the awful machine stuff that tasted like cardboard. Regardless, he accepted it with a weak smile. Elijah had a cup of his own. He leaned against the window ledge, staring out into the quad. Gordon stayed in the armchair, swirling the coffee until it was cold. His anger from earlier had dissipated, replaced with something that was almost numbness.

It was some time before either man spoke. For what felt like hours, there was nothing more than the sounds of machines and monitors in the room and the muffled voices and footsteps from outside.

Eventually, Elijah sighed and crossed to the trash can, throwing the empty cup inside. Then he turned his attention to John. Gordon watched the play of emotion across his pale face.

"You really love him, don't you?"

At the question, Elijah didn't sigh again. He didn't give his trademark shrug. Instead, he nodded.

"I do." He said. His voice caught and he cleared his throat. "I never meant for it to happen. I never meant to fall in love with anyone."

Gordon set his cup aside.

"Had your heart broken before?" he asked.

Elijah's face became so still that Gordon regretted opening his mouth. Then he found himself on the receiving end of a watery stare.

"I can trust you, right?" Elijah asked.

Gordon stood.

"Of course you can," he said.

He motioned for Elijah to take his seat, though the other man refused with a gentle wave of one hand. Gordon sat back down.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Elijah perched on the edge of John's bed, watching the gentle rise and fall of the other man's chest.

"John is the first person I've ever loved," he said. Then he gave a tiny grin. "Apart from Matthew, of course. But that's a different kind of love. I never, ever thought I would be able to love someone. It just… I thought I didn't know how."

Gordon didn't ask why. He just waited. _He'll tell me in his own time._ Memories of a conversation with Matthew started to surface. _Elijah disappeared once…_

"Well, you know that Matthew and I were foster kids, right?" Gordon nodded and Elijah continued. "Our parents were drug addicts, hooked on heroin. Life was really, really shit. There were days when we didn't eat. Our clothes weren't washed. _We_ weren't washed." He ran a hand through his hair, as though remembering the feeling of grime and neglect. "We lived in an old house that belonged to our grandfather – though he was dead before we were born. It was in rural Donegal, the middle of nowhere, really. So no one saw us. Things just got worse and worse. It wasn't until we were school age but not registered with a school that social services stepped in. It's a miracle we survived as long as we did.

"Then we bounced from placement to placement in the foster system, never settling anywhere. I remember looking in the mirror – I must have only been about eight years old – and thinking that Matthew was the only one who would ever love me. He was the only person in my life who had always been there.

"Then, when I was nine, things got a lot worse. I was abducted. I was abused. Then he tossed me out onto the street and said if I told anyone, he would come and kill my brother in his sleep."

Gordon shook his head as the enormity of Elijah's tale washed over him. _My God,_ he thought. _That's just… Fuck_.

"Dude, I'm so sorry," he said.

Elijah closed his eyes and gave him a sad smile.

"Yeah," he said. "A woeful story. But you know what? It has a happy ending."

He looked at John again and took one of his hands.

"Five years ago, I decided that enough was enough. I was tired of living in the shadow of my past. Tired of thinking I had to be dominated by what my parents did to me, what that man did to me. It took a lot of therapy and hard work, but…" He ran his thumb in circles around the back of John's prone hand. "It paid off. I decided to do something worthwhile with my life. So I started to work as an aid worker in the Central African Republic – Matthew by my side, as always – and eventually, that led me here." He smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling. "For the first time in my life, I've found myself able to love. Not just like, but _love_. There's something about your brother that's just… Perfect."

Then his face fell.

"I know what it's like to have life chew you up and spit you out. I know what it's like to feel as though you can't take any more. I just hope that I can help John through all of this."

Gordon stood and joined Elijah at the bed. He placed a hand on the Irishman's shoulder and squeezed lightly.

"My Mom had a lot of sayings when we were growing up," Gordon said. "She would dole them out at just the right moment, and when she did, suddenly everything didn't seem so bad. If she were here, I know what she'd say."

"What's that?" Elijah asked.

Gordon smiled, his mother's words forming in his mouth. When he spoke them, he heard them in her voice.

"' _Everything happens for a reason_.'"

Elijah returned the smile. Gordon patted his shoulder before removing his hand.

"Maybe you two were destined to meet each other," he said. "Maybe you're the cure to each other's ills."

Elijah brought a hand up to wipe at his eyes and nodded.

"Maybe."

 **~oOo~**

 _What do you want?_

 _Where are you going?_

 _Who are you?_

The voices kept coming and John kept going. The figure was still distant but maybe, just maybe, he was gaining some ground.

The scenery changed around him again. The island. Five. The coast. The countryside. Kansas. School. London. Harvard. Tracy College.

He was gaining. He was _definitely_ gaining.

 _What do you want?_

This time, he answered.

"I want my life back!"

As he released his words into the ever-changing setting, the figure got closer. _That's it! That's the key!_

 _Where are you going?_

"I'm going home!" he said, still running.

Again, the figure grew closer.

 _Who are you?_

"I am John Tracy!"

The figure grew ever-closer. John kept running, even as a new question was thrown at him.

 _What are you?_

At those words he stumbled, falling to the ground, his palms and knees shredding to bits as he skidded along the ground. Grace's voice became louder. So did Sunflower's. So did the twisted echo of his own.

 _Are you weak? John Tracy, are you weak?_

The questions seemed to weigh him down as his enemies' voices grew louder.

 _Answer! John Tracy, are you weak?_

Powered by anger, by fury at the universe itself, John clambered to his feet. Despite the weight, despite how his limbs felt as though they were encased in drying concrete, he willed them to move.

Then he was up and running again.

"No!" he shouted, arms and legs pumping as he drew ever-closer to the strange figure. "I'm not weak! I'm strong, no matter what's happened, no matter what the hell else life throws at me. I am not weak. I AM NOT WEAK!"

Everything changed. John skidded to a stop. In an instant, he was back at the edge of the abyss. But now, the figure was standing beside him. He still couldn't see its face. But the voice sounded familiar.

"You have a choice, John," it said.

"Who are you?" he asked.

But the figure didn't answer. Instead, it simply continued.

"You can choose to let your troubles weigh you down. You can allow yourself to be crushed by despair." It shook its head. "You've had more than your fair share of pain in your short life."

No matter how hard he tried, John couldn't make out the figure's face. It gestured to the abyss, the knives and blades that jutted from its sides glinting in the light.

"You can choose to stay down there. Someday, you might decide you're ready to get out. But the climb will be a hard one. You'll be cut to shreds." The figure turned towards him, though he still couldn't see its face. "Or, you can choose to stay out of the abyss altogether. You can refuse, outright, to go back down there."

John stared down, his eyes flitting from knife to knife.

"I don't want to go down there again," he said. "I don't want to be broken. I don't want to be _weak_. I'm not any of those things."

"I know."

The figure's voice was so indulgent, so kind. _Who are you?_

"You can come out of this alright," it said. "You just have to be strong. As I always said, everything happens for a reason."

At that, John knew who the figure was.

"Mom?"

 **~oOo~**

Gordon and Elijah stood for some time, just lingering at the side John's bed, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. _Come on, big brother_ , Gordon thought. _I need you. Elijah needs you. We_ all _need you. The family will never be complete again if we lose you. We won't cope. Please…_

John didn't stir.

Gordon snorted. Elijah looked at him sharply. Gordon waved it off. _This isn't a fairy tale_ , he thought. _Wishing on a star isn't going to help us now_.

At that, his brother started to stir.

Gordon's chest tightened and he looked at Elijah, eyes wide. Then they took up John's hands again.

"Yo, bro!" Gordon said. "Come on, now. Wake up, boy!"

John groaned, then tried to speak. He coughed and Elijah brought a cup of water to his lips. After a messy sip, with half the contents of the cup spilling down his chin, John's mouth was moist enough for him to form words. They sounded strange. The 'd' and the 't' sounds weren't there but it didn't matter. The meaning was clear.

"Don't call me 'boy,'" he rasped. "Who do you think you are, Scott?"

Gordon's whoop of joy brought guards and nurses running again. Their faces were strained, pulled with worry.

But he couldn't have cared less.


	20. Chapter 20

"Okay. The line is locked on. You're good to go, Gordon."

With a grin at the confidence in his brother's voice, Gordon gave a thumbs up. Alan, who was manning the line that connected Thunderbird Two to the second aircraft, gave him a grin.

"F.A.B., Virgil," Gordon said. "Commencing mid-air transfer now."

International Rescue had been back in business for three weeks and Gordon had loved every minute of it. As he exited Two and started to slide along the cable, his harness tightening under his weight, Gordon had never felt so alive. He was who knew how many thousand feet in the air. It almost feels like I could reach out and touch the stars...

They had been called to assist with a commercial sub-orbiter that was in distress. It was a tourist vessel – suborbital flights for leisure had been popular since the 2020s – that had developed a systems fault. It wasn't causing problems with flight. It was landing that would be the difficult part. There was a fault with the undercarriage control system. Strapped to Gordon's front was a pack filled with the tools and components needed to repair the damage. I just hope I'm able to do it!

As he passed from ship to ship, the strangeness of the spacesuit felt a little easier. Usually, it was Alan who was the one in the EVA – but then, Gordon had developed a knack for air to air transfer. I've done it so many times! he thought.  
The suit was needed due to the high altitude. They were already at Thunderbird Two's operational limits and the sub-orbiter's pilot didn't want to lose too much altitude – just in case. And so, it's Gordon Tracy to the rescue once more!

"How are you doing there, Gordon?"

Scott's voice came loud and clear through his helmet comm. Thunderbird One was following alongside the orbiter.

"I'm nearly across," Gordon replied.

"Good," Scott said. "Brains in on the line and waiting to guide you through the repairs. And make it snappy," he added, though there was mirth in his voice. "We have a party to get to."

"Yessir!" Gordon said.

And it's a party I wouldn't miss for the world, Gordon thought as he edged close enough for his feet to touch the sub-orbiter's fuselage. Johnny's finally coming home!

 **~oOo~**

"No, not those ones," Tin-Tin said.

John sighed and replaced the frames on the stand. Or at least, he tried to. He couldn't exactly see what he was doing.

"Why do they make these holes so small?" he asked, reaching out to feel for the slots the glasses legs would slip through. "It doesn't make sense."

His grandmother placed a hand on his and guided the frames to the right place.

"Most people can see just a little bit better than you and I, dear," she said.

"And anyway," John continued. "How am I supposed to pick a set of frames that suit me if I can't see them on my face?"

Tin-Tin chuckled and plucked out a few more potential candidates.

"That's what we're here for," she said, gently sliding the legs of another pair behind John's ears. "We'll make sure you get something stylish."

John tried not to slouch and pout – or at least, tried not to do it too much. He was eternally grateful to Tin-Tin and his grandmother for coming to his rescue. This is a complete pain in the butt! he thought. But, I guess I should be grateful that glasses will help correct my vision – at least a bit. It could have been so much worse…

Even after surgery and intensive treatment, Malaya Ramos's attack had left permanent damage to John's eyes. His fists clenched as the name rolled around in his head. Bitch. Had the gouge gone on for much longer, he could have been totally blinded. As it stood, he had lost most of his vision in his left eye and his right wasn't much better. But the World Government ophthalmic surgeons had done their best and he had been discharged from the hospital with a strong prescription and orders to get something better than their hideous standard frames.

Of course, that wasn't the only thing he had left the medical facility with. As Tin-Tin slid another set of frames from his face, John ran his tongue over his dental implants. He still couldn't fathom how real they felt. Just like my old teeth, he thought. Except a bit whiter! At least that's one positive…

Being positive was something John was not finding easy. He had only been free of Grace's terror for eleven months. And now, he had been half-destroyed again. There were days when he wasn't sure if he would ever be whole again – and it had nothing to do with his damaged eyes or missing teeth. He felt as though life had chewed him up and spat him out again. He was always looking over his shoulder, wondering what the next disaster would be…

But there was still a glimmer of positivity, as difficult as it was to find at times.  
His silver lining was Lyra. I can't wait to hold her again. I haven't seen her in over a month. John had declined the offer to bring Lyra out to visit. I don't want her to see me like this, he had said. I don't want to scare her. Though he had strong suspicions that his little daughter was, at eleven months old, already a tough cookie. She's already been through so much. I just hope her next few years aren't as turbulent as her first…

He blinked as Tin-Tin pushed another pair of frames onto his nose, then jumped as she gave a squeal of delight.

"Grandma! I think I've found the perfect pair!"

A second blur moved into John's vision.

"You're right, Tin-Tin. They are perfect!"

John put his hands on his hips and shook his head.

"I wish I could see them," he said.

"No problem!"

There was a click and a flash and John frowned.

"You just took a cell photo, didn't you?"

Tin-Tin laughed gently. He could see a dark blur bobbing up and down – she was nodding.

"Yes," she said. "Don't worry. You weren't pulling a strange face."

Then she pried the frames off. Sighing, John slid his hospital-issue spectacles on, feeling the bump on his nose. He had been left a slight rise in the middle after the break had healed. He blinked as the world swirled into focus – or at least, as focused as he could hope for. I never realised wearing glasses took so much getting used to.

"Don't even think of taking a picture of me in these," he said, frowning again. "They're hideous."

John had never seen a pair of glasses more woeful than the pair he had been given in the hospital. They were cheap and plastic and huge. I'd rather not wear them! he thought, then relented. Actually, I'd rather wear these monstrosities than be blind. But still, they're horrific.

Tin-Tin chuckled, shook her head, and held up her cell phone.

"Here, take a look."

Blinking to adjust to the screen, John looked at the screen – and smiled.

"You're good, Tin-Tin," he said. "That is a handsome fella."

It was true. The glasses looked good. They were matt black and relatively thick but they seemed to sit perfectly on his face. Well, if I have to adjust to my new vision, at least I can look good doing it…

"So, are these the ones?" Grandma asked.

John handed the cell back to Tin-Tin and nodded.

"I think they are," he said.

His grandmother produced a set of near-identical frames from behind her back. They were the same shape but were a tortoiseshell brown instead.

"Take it from someone who's lost more than her fair share of glasses," she said. "You need more than one pair."

John chuckled and shrugged.

"Whatever you say. You're the expert."

Within a few minutes, they had given the frames and prescription to the assistant. Then they stepped out into he sunny Brisbane afternoon.

They had two hours to kill before the glasses were ready. Grandma patted her stomach.

"I don't know about you two," she said, "but I could use some lunch."

"Me, too," Tin-Tin said. She turned to John. "What about you?"

John nodded.

"I could eat," he said. Then he smiled. "I'm going to order the most sickly, sugary thing I can. Don't need to worry too much about cavities anymore!"

He tapped his false teeth and his grandmother rolled her eyes.

"You've still got real molars, mister," she said, one eyebrow raised.

John chuckled and shook his head. It wasn't something he should laugh about, he supposed. Having all of your front teeth knocked out but a psychopath wasn't funny. But, as John had discovered quickly, black humour seemed to be a good coping mechanism.

I've just got to stay positive whatever way I can, he thought. Even if it does mean poking fun at myself…

Within twenty minutes they found a quaint coffee shop and ordered their drinks. Grandma Tracy disappeared to the powder room and John found himself alone with Tin-Tin for the first time in... Months? Who knows? He spooned some of the chocolate and foam from the top of his cappuccino and savoured the flavour with closed eyes. I haven't had a decent cup of coffee in far too long. When he opened his eyes again, Tin-Tin was watching him.

"What?" he asked.

Tin-Tin gave him a smile but it quickly dissolved into a watery grimace.

"Hey, hey," he said, feeling his heart clench. "What's wrong?"

Shaking her head, Tin-Tin plucked up a serviette and dabbed at her eyes.

"I'm just being silly," she said.

John gave her a look that he hoped still conveyed his meaning, glasses or not. You aren't getting off that easy.

Chuckling, Tin-Tin shook her head.

"Wearing those glasses, you look like a young science teacher everyone has the hots for."

Joining her chuckling, John grinned. His new teeth felt strange - or rather, the absence of feeling in them felt strange. He sobered again and reached out to take one of her hands.

"Seriously, Tin-Tin. What's wrong?"

She heaved a sigh and crumpled the napkin in her other hand.

"I'm just so happy to see you walking and talking again," she said. "I thought... I really thought that this time..." Her voice caught and she swallowed. "Watching it was so horrendous. I can only imagine what it was like to go through it all."

Flashes of memory appeared in his mind like fragments. The punches that sent teeth flying from his mouth, that broke his skin, that brought his skin out in a catalogue of bruises and slashes. The unadulterated rage in Malaya's face... He shuddered.

"It was..." John stopped himself before he finished the sentence. "I was going to say it was like nothing I've been through before. But, in some ways, it was like going through the motions again." He snorted softly. "Malaya picked me because she thought I was weak. And I'm glad she did."

Tin-Tin turned her hand around in his grip. She squeezed back. She didn't ask why. They both knew.

"You're just about the strongest person I know, John," she said.

John ducked his head, blushing.

"Thanks, Tin-Tin. But I don't feel brave, especially not in the middle of the night."

Grasping his hand anew, Tin-Tin gave him a knowing smile.

"But you don't have to be alone," she said. "You've got Lyra. And, more importantly, there's a certain redheaded nurse who I'm sure would be glad to keep you company."

John felt his face darken even more. He and Elijah had taken up with each other six months before but as yet, they hadn't shared a bed. We haven't done much more than kiss, in truth, he thought.

"Maybe…" he said.

At that point, a tray was placed in the table - and they had to snap their hands apart before their fingers were crushed.

"Now," Grandma Tracy said, "they're not home baked, but they'll have to do! I passed by the desserts on my way back and couldn't resist!"

On the tray sat at least six different types of cake, accompanied by bowls of fresh cream, ice cream and fruit. John grinned and stood to kiss his grandmother on the temple.

"Thanks, Grandma," he said.

She hugged him with a firm grip, rubbing his back lightly.

"That's my boy."

 **~oOo~**

"O-once you connect those wires again, that should be the repairs c-completed, Gordon."

"F.A.B., Brains. Here goes!"

Hanging from the belly of the orbiter, Gordon did as he was told. Then he opened a comm line to the pilots.

"Okay, boys," he said. "Your landing gear should be fully operational. Once I give you the all clear, I want you to try and initiate the system."

"Understood, International Rescue," the pilot said. "Standing by."

Replacing all of his tools in the small pack on the front of his EVA suit, Gordon pushed off the fuselage and started to slide away.

"That should be far enough," Scott said.

Inside his helmet, Gordon couldn't hear the whine of Thunderbird One's jets but he could see the silver rocket hovering on the periphery of his vision.

"Alright. Try the gear," Gordon said.

A few tense moments passed by. Come on, Gordon thought. The repair has to have worked. I did everything Brains said!

Before he could doubt himself much longer, the orbiter's landing gear began to come down. Gordon's whoop of joy was joined by cheers from the cockpit.

"You're miracle workers, International Rescue!" the pilot said, relief evident in his voice. "Thank you."

Had he not been dangling thousands of feet in the air, Gordon would have saluted.

"No problem," he said. "Now hold your course until I'm back inside our craft and we've detached the cable," Gordon said. "Otherwise I'll be in for a swinging time."

There was much moaning over the comm from his brothers. The pilot chuckled.

"Will do."

At that, Gordon began the rest of his climb back to Thunderbird Two. Alan was waiting for him, one arm outstretched to help him up.

"Okay, Virgil," Alan said. "Gordon's back on board. You can release the magnetic grips now."

At the press of a button in the cockpit, the line detached from the sub-orbiter and began to spool up again. Virgil relayed the information to the other craft and it began to move off.

"Another mission successfully completed," Scott said. "Let's go home boys. We have a welcome home party to get to!"

As the compartment in Two was sealed and atmosphere was returned to breathable levels, both Alan and Gordon took off their helmets. Alan slapped his brother on the back. Gordon grinned. Another mission complete, more lives saved. Boy, do I love my job…


	21. Chapter 21

Feeling every inch a recalcitrant child, John made his way to his father's office. _I'm twenty-eight years old_ , he thought. _I should not feel so nervous_. And yet he did.

That wasn't the only emotion that was washing over him in waves of cold sweat. There was anxiety. There was terror. And worst of all, there was the anger.

Anger had started to consume him. And that was probably what this conversation was going to be about. Since he'd come home four days before, he'd fought with just about everyone. _Even Elijah_. Shame burning his cheeks, John slowed his pace and leaned against the wall. He hadn't _meant_ to fight with any of them. But it was as if his usual calm demeanour, his natural filter, had dissolved. There was nothing left to stop his rage from spewing forth. So now John found himself slowing to a crawl, heading for the biggest dressing down the Tracy family had seen since Alan shattered all the windows at Colorado University.

John stopped as he neared the lounge. Droplets of sweat slipped from his forehead and he fell against the wall, eternally glad that no one else was around. It was the middle of the day but the rest of his brothers were on a rescue. Something about an earthquake. John hadn't been at the muster. What was the point? He couldn't help, anyway. Disregarding the explosive temper, he still wasn't fully healed. He _ached_.

And most of the pain wasn't physical _._

He was close, so close, to his father's office. But he couldn't make it through the lounge. He just _couldn't_. That was where it had all happened. That was where his life had fallen apart. _Again_.

That was another reason he hadn't answered the emergency klaxon. He hadn't been back in that room since he'd come home. _And I don't think I'll ever be able to go in there again_.

It wasn't just the pain. It wasn't just the injuries to his face, his lost sight, or the fact this came so close on the back of the _other_ ordeal. No. It was worse.

It was the _humiliation_.

Sinking to his knees, John bowed his head. His hand slipped away from the wall and he stared at the floor, counting the lines in the woodgrain.

All of his brothers had managed to escape. All of his brothers had helped in the rescue attempt. And what had John Tracy done? Been tied to a chair and humiliated – _again_.

 _What are you?_

As the question assaulted him once more, John pushed his glasses up and jammed the heels of his hands into his eyes. _No. Not again. Not this again_.

Because it kept coming back. That image of the chasm. The knives, ripping and tearing at his skin.

 _No, no, NO!_

"Dada!"

At that, John pulled his hands from his eyes and blinked as they adjusted to the glasses again. _What?_

"Dada dada dada!"

And there, crawling towards him with the most _enormous_ smile on her face, was Lyra. His little star. His little darling.

And she was crawling _so fast_. With such confidence, such joy. John looked up and there behind her, watching, was his father.

Jeff didn't say anything. But there was no fury on his face. The anger and dressing down that John had expected was loud in its absence. Instead, Jeff leaned against the wall and watched as his only granddaughter sped towards her father.

Lyra paused. The smile fell from her face.

Then John wiped his eyes and nose and reached out for her. And the smile was back.

"Da-da-da-da-da!"

Reaching out, John pulled her onto his lap and held onto her for dear life. He inhaled her smell, so full of vitality, so perfect. He brought his hand up to stroke the back of her silky blonde hair. It seemed to grow thicker every day. He rubbed circles on her back, feeling the ever-strengthening muscles flex as she moved. _So strong. So perfect_.

"She's missed you," Jeff said as he approached.

Easing himself onto the floor, he unfolded his long legs and groaned.

"I'm sure not getting any younger!" he said.

Lyra began to squirm, so John relinquished his grasp and let her decide where to go next. And that location was nestled in between her father and grandfather. As she started to pluck at the seams of his jeans, John shook his head.

"I don't see why she's missed me," he said, pangs of guilt stabbing at him. "I've hardly been here for her."

Jeff's face darkened and he shook his head.

"None of that, son," he said in a tone that could not be argued with. "Up until the wedding you were doing an excellent job.

"Yeah," John said, "but then 'Captain Disaster' here struck again."

He snorted. The self-depreciating sound made Lyra jump. _And…was that a frown?_ Before he could think about it more, Jeff was speaking again.

"Stop that, John." His words were delivered with a scowl. But it was a scowl tinged with worry and something else John couldn't put his finger on. _Fear?_ "None of what has happened has been your fault. _None_ of it. You've been very unfortunate but it hasn't been your fault."

John felt his temper flare that that word. _Unfortunate? That's a very light way of putting it._ But for the sake of his daughter, he kept a lid on his anger. Or at least, most of it.

" _Unfortunate_ doesn't quite cut it, Dad," he said, trying his best not to grit his teeth.

"I know, son," Jeff said. "I really do."

John's first instinct was to snap back. Every ounce of his being wanted to fight back, tooth and nail. _How could you know? How the hell could you know?_

But of course, Jeff Tract _did_ know what it was like to have life lock its jaws around him, to have the best part of his being ripped away. Because Jeff had lost Lucy and in doing so, had almost lost himself.

So John closed his mouth and let Lyra start tugging at the toggles on his sweatshirt. He swallowed.

"Dad," he said.

And then he couldn't speak for a long while. The three generations of Tracys simply sat on the floor of the hallway for a while. The air was air-con cool and filled with the sounds of Lyra's babbling and the smells of lunch wafting up from the kitchen. Jeff didn't press his son to continue. He just waited. To John, that was the kindest thing he could have done.

After some time, he swallowed and spoke again.

"Dad, how did you pull yourself back together after the avalanche? I mean, you lost Mom and you lost Grandpa Grant and you nearly died yourself. And Alan was in the hospital for a long time, too. And when you got out, you had no wife and no father and five kids to look after. How the hell did you do it?"

Jeff grunted out a laugh and brought a hand down to rest of Lyra's head. The little girl turned around and _beamed_ at him.

"Ga-ga-ga-ga-ga!"

And Jeff grinned back. Then he looked at John and nodded at his granddaughter.

"That's how," he said. "You kids pulled me though."

Then his face darkened. John could almost see the memories flicking through his father's mind like an old black and white projector.

"There were some very, very dark times just after your mother and your grandfather died. There were times when –" Jeff's voice caught and he coughed. "There were times when I wished I had died as well – God forgive me for ever thinking that." Lyra clambered into his lap and he kissed her forehead. "But I did. Lucy and I were childhood sweethearts. I'd met her at sixteen and we stuck together like paper and glue all the way through college, through the W.S.A." His face took on a determined set. "You know, when she didn't make it onto the crew for the first moon mission, I nearly didn't go myself!"

The two men shared a chuckle but the mirth quickly subsided. Jeff leaned back, the crown of his head resting on the wall.

"She had been with me for so many years. We had gone through so much together. And then she was _gone_. It felt like the best part of me had been ripped out. Not just my heart but… Whatever made me, well, _me_. I didn't know who I was anymore. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. And I became so _angry_ for the longest time." When he turned his grey-blue eyes on John, he smiled sympathetically. "And I think that's how you feel right now."

Pulling his legs up so his head rested on his knees, John nodded.

"Yeah," he said.

His voice was almost inaudible. The two men were quiet for a time again. Lyra snuggled against her grandfather's chest, babbling in her own secret language.

Eventually, Jeff broke the silence.

"Son, I think we need to get you some help again."

 _Again_.

The word cut like a knife. _I'm at the bottom of that chasm,_ John thought. _The only way out is to grab those blades and climb_. Slowly, he nodded.

"I think you're right Dad."

And at that, something changed. A damn broke deep inside him. Suddenly, John found that words were spilling out of his mouth, unchecked and unstoppable.

"I feel like I'm broken," he said. "I feel just like you said, Dad. Like the best part of me has been ripped out. I don't even know who I _am_ anymore. I just…" He buried his face in his knees for a moment before continuing. "I feel like the person who was valedictorian at Harvard, who was part of the Hermes V mission to Mercury, who discovered the Tracy Quasars… I feel like I don't know who that person is anymore. I feel like… Like I've been split in two and all of that has been left behind. And what's left? _Nothing._ "

Jeff nodded, biting his lip. Lyra clambered down from his lap and started gesturing for her father's attention.

"Dada! Dada!"

John smiled and unfolded himself, lifting her onto his stomach. She started to play with his blond cowlick.

"Son," Jeff said.

The way he said that one word, the _anguish_ in it, made John's head spin. He snapped around to look at his father. Jeff's eyes were glassy.

"Dad, what –"

Before he could finish, Jeff had started to speak again.

"Son, I'm so sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry that all of this has happened. I should have taken your place. It was my responsibility to bear the brunt of that madwoman's fists." John tried to interject again but Jeff raised a hand for silence. "What happened to you was my fault – both this time and last time. I should never have let you drive yourself to the airport. I shouldn't have allowed that woman to lay a hand on you. I shouldn't –"

" _Dad_!"

John's tone made both Lyra and Jeff jump. There was anger blazing in John's eyes again but this time, it was different. It was like – anger turned on its side. Or even, turned _outward_.

"You cannot be blamed for what happened to me. You didn't do anything. You didn't put me in danger. You cannot be held responsible for any of their actions. _They_ made the choices, not you. It is not. Your. Fault."

There was a flash in Jeff's eyes. Something akin to victory. John slumped back against the wall. He'd been trapped.

"Why is there one rule for me and another for you, then, son?" Jeff asked.

John absently ran a hand over Lyra's head. The little girl reached up and grabbed his fingers.

Jeff reached out and gently squeezed John's shoulder.

"Having one conversation on the floor of a hallway isn't going to cure everything," he said. "But it's a start. I have a few very good contacts within the World Government, who've forwarded a list of names of therapists who do intensive work on PTSD. I'd like to arrange for one of them to see you."

John gritted his teeth. Everything in him was recoiling from the idea. _No. Not again._ But sense prevailed and he relented.

"Alright, Dad," he said. "But… I don't want to do it here. There's just…" His voice broke and he coughed. "I don't want everyone to think they have to walk around on eggshells or not ask how it went – or feel like they _have_ to ask. I just… I can't have them all looking at me like I'm an invalid."

Jeff nodded slowly. John could see the seeds of an idea germinating behind his eyes.

"Maybe I could ask Penelope if we could use Bonga Bonga," he said. "That way you'd be far enough away for some privacy but not so far that coming home in a hurry would be prohibitive. And," he added with a smile, "if you want some company and someone to help look after little miss here, I can think of a good candidate."

John smiled but ducked his head.

"Would you release him from duty for however long it took?" he asked.

Jeff shifted on the ground and winced.

"Of course," he said, then winced again. "Now, if you don't mind, I need to get up from this floor. My old bones are killing me!"

John chuckled and rose alongside his father.

"C'mon, Dad. It can't be that bad. I mean, Grandma's in her eighties and she can still hold her own – and deliver a mean football tackle, from what I've been told!"

Jeff grunted but there was still a smile on his face.

"Your grandmother is a special case," he said. "Now, let's go and check in with your brothers. Then I'll call Penny and make arrangements."

Clutching his daughter in his arms, John followed his father to the lounge. As he approached the threshold, he breathed deeply. Jeff paused and gave him an encouraging smile. As John stepped into the room, he felt as though he clutched the first of the knives.

 _It's a start_ , he thought.


	22. Chapter 22

Dotted all around the pool were solar lights. They shone like beacons in the darkness, gently changing colours. Gordon watched the subtle slide from green to blue, then through to a delicate purple and on through the spectrum.

Alone at the poolside with his feet dangling into the cool water, Gordon closed his eyes and listened as the wind rustled the foliage. He imagined invisible fingers sliding through the leafy fronds and a pair of mischievous eyes peering out.

His chuckle was loud in the quiet of the night. A memory resurfaced, a vision from many years before. What seemed like an eternity ago, Gordon had received his first and only starring role on stage: Puck in the high school production of A Midsummer Night's Dream. Grinning, Gordon ran his hand over his arms - the same arms that had once been festooned with swirls of green leaves and vines as part of his costume.

He could still remember the look on his father's face when he said he was auditioning. He could still hear the one word Jeff had said.

" _Why_?"

The question wasn't asked out of anger or disgust. Jeff Tracy had no problem with his children being into performing arts. Virgil had been everything from one of the shepherds in the kindergarten nativity play to his final starring role as Jean Valjean, a last gasp on the stage before going off to M.I.T. No, the question was not asked out of anger. It was asked out of _confusion_.

Gordon laced his fingers together in his lap and smiled. The ripples made by his feet were picked out in white by the ambient light from the lounge. An ambition to tread the boards had been new, indeed. But it wasn't born from a love of acting. It was more a result of wanting to be something _different_ , something apart from Gordon the high school swimmer, the state butterfly champ, the one who always brought home gold for Kansas at the nationals and, most crucially, the one who had been selected for the Olympic team.

He wanted to prove he was more than just a water baby. And he absolutely nailed it.

The role was made for Gordon. He could cartwheel and tumble. His swimmer's build made him lithe and lean enough to look small in comparison to Jim Saunders as Oberon. And the mischievous grin? He didn't even need to _act_ for that bit. In short, Gordon was Puck and Puck was Gordon, and those were some of the best nights of his high school life.

His chest pranged at the memory of Jim. On the closing night, they had shared an intense embrace. It was Gordon's first foray into something other than girls and it was one of the memories that were eternally burned into his brain. It was the day he realised that attraction was not a binary.

It hadn't lasted. Jim drifted off, taking part of Gordon with him. With the curtains finally closed on the play and the relationship, Gordon went back to being the swimmer, the champ, the future Olympian.

 _Someone should have warned me that love can_ hurt, he thought. Then he chuckled as some of Puck's lines came back to him.

" _Lord, what fools these mortals be_."

"You don't normally quote Shakespeare, Gords."

At the intrusion of the new voice, Gordon turned, sending splashes and ripples across the surface of the pool. It was John, with Lyra snuggled up in a carrycot. Gordon slipped his legs out of the water and stood, peering in at his sleeping niece.

"I am a multi-faceted man," he said.

They crossed to the swinging seat and, after John settled Lyra's cot on the ground nearby, they sat.

Gently swinging, they shared companionable silence for a moment. Gordon snuck a sideways glance at his brother. He still couldn't get used to seeing John with glasses. _It's so weird,_ he thought. _Must be even weirder for him._ There were a few other, subtle differences in his appearance. Ghosts of cuts and bruises still lingered on the periphery and the bridge of his nose had shifted. Gordon's gut tightened. _I should have been there for him. I should have protected him._

"So why were you quoting the Bard?" John asked.

Behind the glasses, his eyes were closed.

"Just memories," Gordon said, drawing his knees up to his chin. "I was thinking about my one and only foray into acting."

John chuckled.

"I remember the pictures you sent me of your costume. It was pretty scant, as far as I can remember!"

"In my defence, I did also wear a lot of body paint," Gordon said.

This time, John's laugh was louder.

Sensing an opportunity, Gordon turned to face his brother, keeping his legs drawn up. At the rustling sound, John opened his eyes and cocked his head to the side.

"What's on your mind, Gords?"

 _Lots,_ Gordon thought. _Too much_. He tried to speak but found that words had deserted him.

He leaned his cheek on his knee and sighed.

"A lot," he said at last.

The compassion in John's eyes was almost Gordon's undoing. He turned away.

"Hey, what's all this?" John asked.

And all of a sudden, they weren't on the poolside swing any more. They were back on the farm, Gordon ten and curled up on the porch swing, sniffling over some long-dead dispute. And teenage John was there, all lanky arms and compassionate smiles.

"Gords, _talk_ to me. I'm listening."

Forcing himself back to reality, Gordon turned to see that smile in the flesh. He tipped his head back and sighed.

"I don't know, John," he said. "I just..." He faltered, swallowed, and then tried again. "Do you remember anything else about the time I was in Midsummer? Something, you know, _big_ that happened."

After a few moments of silent confusion, something clicked. Gordon could almost see the cartoon lightbulb above his brother's head.

" _Oh_ ," John said.

"Yeah."

"Matt?"

"Yeah."

"I see." John blinked and folded his arms. "So have you two... You know..."

Gordon resisted the urge to bury his face in his knees and was glad for the darkness of the evening. _Though I'm probably blazing like a lighthouse!_

"No, we haven't," he said. "In fact, we haven't done anything. But I know he's interested and... It's all very confusing."

"Confusing how?" John asked. "You've dated guys other than that one in high school. What was his name? Tim? Jim?"

"Jim," Gordon said. "And technically, we never really dated. And yeah, I have. I've dated lots of guys and girls - though again, 'dating' is probably too strong a word to use."

"So why is this weird?" John asked.

Gordon released his knees and let his legs dangle, swinging back and forth. Then he counted his reasons on his calloused fingers.

"Number one, we live on a small island. So if things go wrong, that's bad. Number two, we work together, which could again be awkward. And number three, now let me think..." He tapped his chin, then snapped his fingers. "Oh yes. Not to mention that he's your boyfriend's identical twin!"

John made a face at that.

"Don't say ' _boyfriend_.' It makes my skin crawl and makes me sound like a thirteen year old."

Gordon rolled his eyes.

"Well, you are dating, right?"

"Yes," John said. Then his whole face seemed to crumple. "Thankfully."

Now it was Gordon's turn to take on the mantle of concerned brother.

"What's wrong?"

John shook his head, then tipped it back to stare at the swing's awning.

"Nothing. I'm just... Let's just say I haven't exactly been the greatest person to be around lately - as I'm sure you've noticed."

Gordon chose to remain neutral on the subject. Just the day before, John had torn his head off over the almost-empty milk carton he had left in the fridge. It was best to say nothing.

"You've been through a lot," Gordon said. "You're entitled."

John snorted and folded his arms tighter.

"Everyone's been through a lot. I mean, our _home_ was invaded. And Tin-Tin and Alan's wedding was ruined. Dad was half-destroyed at taking IR offline for so long. We've _all_ suffered. I mean, you got stabbed, Gords. _Stabbed_. I don't have a monopoly on pain - even though it seems like it, recently."

Gordon snorted and was about to retort. John beat him to it with a wag of the finger.

"Anyway, we're not talking about me. We're talking about _you_. Why would you not date Matthew just because he happens to be Elijah's twin?"

" _Identical_ twin," Gordon said in a tone that suggested that should explain it all. When John gestured for further explanation, Gordon groaned. "It's just strange, alright? It'd be like we were dating the same person. And anyway, two brothers dating two brothers? It's _so_ cliché."

He gave John what he hoped was a cheesy grin but his brother was having none of it. Then John's expression softened and he chuckled.

" _'_ _Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind_ _, and_ _therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind.'_ "

The lines rattled around in Gordon's brain and he grinned.

"More Shakespeare?"

"Yup. Helena, Act One, Scene One, A Midsummer Night's Dream."

Gordon chuckled louder.

"You nerd."

John shrugged and raised his hands in supplication.

"Always have been, always will be," he said. "Anyway, I don't think the fact that they're twins should put you off. I mean, you're not attracted to Elijah, right?"

"Strangely enough, I'm not," Gordon said. "I'm more about the personality than the appearance."

John folded his arms again.

"So, there you go. They're not the same person, so it's not weird."

"It's still a bit weird," Gordon said. "In any case, I'm not sure what I want, really. I don't know if I'm into the whole 'relationship' thing the way you are. Though I have to say, you make a cute little family."

He motioned to the sleeping form of Lyra. John turned to look at his daughter for a few moments before turning back. His expression was deflated.

"You're off to Australia tomorrow, right?" Gordon asked.

John nodded.

"And Elijah's going with you?"

Another nod.

"You'll be just fine," Gordon said, reaching out to lay a hand in John's shoulder. "You've got him and you've got Lyra and you've got all of us at the end of a phone call."

Bringing a hand up to lay it on Gordon's, John nodded.

"Yeah, I know. It's just... I feel like I'll never, ever be the same." His voice caught. "I mean, it was like my life was ticking along nicely and then, all of a sudden, someone came in and started messing with me, throwing these awful obstacles in my way."

Gordon nodded and withdrew his hand. He sat cross-legged on the swing, facing John.

"I know exactly how that feels," he said. "When I had my crash, it was like someone had scribbled out the way my life was supposed to go and started scrawling some madcap plot instead. It wasn't the way things were _supposed_ to be."

For a moment, neither man said anything. Gordon listened to the rustle of the foliage again and the gentle in and out of Lyra's breathing.

"First I thought I was going to die," he said at last. "Then I thought I would be crippled for life. And that was the lowest point for me. I think that might even have been worse than thinking I was dying. Because I was so active before, into all sorts of things, a professional athlete and then -" Gordon snapped his fingers. "In an instant, it all changed. It was like I was this different person. I could never be _Gordon_ again. Gordon was gone and all that was left was a shell."

"But you survived," John said. "You recovered."

Gordon pinned his brother with a fiery gaze.

"Only because I realised something - with the help of a certain brother who started quoting philosophy at me." Gordon thought for a moment, trying to make sure he got the quotation right. "' _The only way to make sense out of change_ -'"

Realisation dawned and John joined in with a lopsided smile. They finished the line together.

"' _-_ _is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance_.'"

Gordon grinned.

"That's what I did and that's what you have to do. Someone might have temporarily taken control of your story and threw all of this shit at you, but now it's time for you to pick up the pen and write the next chapter yourself."

John reached out to pull Gordon into a hug.

"Who knew you were so philosophical?" John asked.

Gordon pounded his brother's back and grinned again.

"As I said, I'm a multi-faceted man."


	23. Chapter 23

"Order, order!"

The general murmur hushed. Seated at the head of the dining table, Gordon laced his fingers together and put on his most serious face. Gathered around him was his army, his loyal followers... Or, at the very least, his family and friends - with the exception of Alan and Tin-Tin, of course.

He took a deep breath, then spoke again.

"I hereby open the first planning meeting for Operation Sneaky Wedding." He looked from face to face. "The first thing we need to do is set a date."

Grandma Tracy folded her arms and shook her head, the gossamer skin at her jawline shifting.

"The problem with that, Gordon," she said, "is that their marriage licence has expired. They need a new one before they can legally be married. I don't see much point in going through with a ceremony here if they'll only have to go elsewhere to have it made official."

Scott nodded, drumming the fingers of one hand on the glossy table top.

"And how do we get them to apply for a new one without giving the game away?" he asked.

The table dissolved into pockets of discussion. But the noise was suddenly silenced by Jeff's authoritative tone. When he spoke, there was no questioning the Tracy patriarch.

"We need some subterfuge," he said. "A double bluff, perhaps."

Interest piqued, Gordon leaned forward, leaning his fingers together in a pyramid.

"What do you have in mind, Dad?"

Jeff laid one hand flat on the table. For a moment, the resemblance between father and son was stark.

"Someone," he said, "perhaps myself, maybe Mother - suggests to them that they should marry, maybe in a registry office. So they fly off to get a licence to get married on the same day. But before the ceremony, they get a call from the island."

Seeing where how his father's idea was developing, Gordon tapped the table with one forefinger.

"And the call says they have to come back straight away," he added. "We say there's been a rescue and we need them back to keep in reserve, since we'll already be down John and Elijah."

"But when they get back," Virgil continued, a grin spreading across his face, "they find there is no rescue. Instead, there's a wedding waiting for them."

"Any nay-sayers?" Gordon asked.

He looked around the table again. Most were shaking their heads. There was, however, a lone uncertain face.

Brains pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose as he spoke.

"I w-would simply be concerned that it may c-cause undue stress on them," he said. "It could cause q-quite a bit of upset. And Tin-Tin has been hurt e-enough over this."

Nodding, Gordon bit his lip. The table broke into conversation again. _He's right,_ Gordon thought. _I don't want to cause more harm than good._

A new voice cut through the din and in an instant, all eyes were on Kyrano.

"Tin-Tin is resilient," he said. "She will not worry if she believes she is needed." He looked down at his hands and smiled. "And the payoff will be great. To see her smile when she realises all that her family have done for her would be a great thing."

A chorus of agreement and 'here-heres' erupted. Gordon grinned. _Great!_

"So, we have the plan," Scott said, "but how do we choose a date?" He turned to his father. "How long is John going to be in Australia? Tin-Tin wouldn't have any of this if he's not back."

Silently flicking through the datebook in his mind, Jeff counted.

"He's been booked for five weeks of intensive therapy," he said. "That should take us all the way through to the end of October."

"Which is also when Lyra's birthday is," Scott added. "John'll want to be home for that."

Grandma grinned and all traces of doubt were erased from her face.

"We could incorporate it into the celebrations," she said.

A wistful look came over Scott's face at that. Gordon smiled. _He is truly in love with that child,_ he thought.

"Well," Virgil said, "how about we set the date for the 31st? We can kill three birds with one stone - wedding, birthday and Halloween."

Gordon looked to Brains.

"What day does Halloween fall on?"

After a beat:

"A Friday," Brains said.

"Perfect!" Gordon clapped his hands together. "Any objections?"

The gathered family looked at one other. No complaints were forthcoming.

"That's settled," said Gordon. "October 31st it is. The next thing is the organisation for the day itself."

Virgil raised a hand.

"I'll take care of the music," he said. "Though I'll probably need to dragoon a few of you into helping."

"My guitar playing skills are at your beck and call," Gordon said. "Scott?"

He chuckled and shrugged.

"Mine too - rusty as they might be," he said. "If you're lucky, you might persuade John to pick up his drumsticks again."

Gordon lifted an invisible clipboard and ticked music off his list.

"What's next? Grandma, Kyrano, can we rely on you for the food?"

Nodding with gusto, Grandma Tracy grinned anew. Kyrano gave a demure smile.

"We'll handle it all," she said. Then her face darkened. "Which, in hindsight, we should have done in the first place. But we weren't to know what would happen."

Choosing not to react to that comment, Gordon instead put another tick on his imaginary list.

"So we have music and food. I will, _obviously_ , be performing the ceremony. Scott will be best-manning. What else?"

"What about suits?" Scott asked. "And Tin-Tin will need a new dress. Her original one is destroyed."

Kyrano turned to him, his eyes half-closed and wistful.

"I believe I can take care of the dress," he said. "I am sure that I still have her mother's gown in storage."

Grandma Tracy gave a little sigh of approval.

"Now, that would be a lovely touch," she said. "As for suits, you boys all own enough tuxedos and three-pieces to clothe half of New Zealand. Use what you've got!"

Chuckling, Jeff nodded.

"Right," he said. "There are two more invitations to make. Penelope and Parker."

Tapping his chin, Scott spoke.

"Why don't we ask them to swing by Bonga-Bonga on the way here?" he asked. "They can pick up John, Elijah and Lyra."

Looking a little unsure of himself, Virgil coughed and leaned on his elbows.

"Since it's also Lyra's birthday, could we possibly invite Georgie and Amelia as well?" he asked. "I'm sure they would want to celebrate with her."

Gordon's face pulled into a wicked grin and he wagged a finger at his brother.

"You sly dog," he said. "But I agree. I think that's a great idea. Dad?"

Jeff only needed a moment to consider it.

"Agreed," he said. "It's a thoughtful gesture."

"Anything else?" Gordon asked.

Virgil spoke up again.

"We'll need some form of décor," he said. "I'll take care of that, too."

With another imaginary tick, Gordon gave a little humph of satisfaction.

"Music, food, ceremony, dress, suits, guests, decorations. Yup, I think we've covered it all." Once again, he looked from face to face. "Alright, team. It looks like Operation Sneaky Wedding is _go_!"

 **~oOo~**

"Well, the decoration is... _interesting_ ," Elijah had said.

John chuckled lightly at the memory. He was sitting in the lounge of Penelope's Bongo-Bongo farmhouse, watching as Lyra played with a brand new set of plastic blocks. She was already showing impressive dexterity and logic. _A future architect, perhaps!_ John thought.

With regards to the décor, Elijah hadn't been wrong. 'Interesting' was accurate – and an infinitely kind description. The striped couch upholstery was soft under John's fingertips and the marble table top glinted in the overhead lights. Everything was homely and yet stiff, high-class and yet strange. _Penelope's taste is one of a kind_ …

Outside the farmhouse, night had fallen to reveal a blanket of stars. _If I wasn't so aware of why I'm here,_ John thought, _it might feel like a vacation. But it doesn't._ He was all too aware of why he was in Australia. _Therapy,_ he thought. _Ugh._

It wasn't that he was intrinsically opposed to the idea. In fact, he welcomed it. But now, as the coldness of reality settled in, it didn't seem like such a good plan. _I know it's for the best. I just hope I'm up to the challenge..._

Before his train of thought could continue along those tracks, Elijah appeared in the archway between the lounge and the hall that led to the kitchen. He was clutching two steaming mugs and smiled as he descended into the sunken living area.

"Lady Penelope sure likes her tea," he said, bending to give John one of the mugs. "I swear to God, there must be at least thirty different varieties in there."

He sat down beside John, careful not to let any of the hot liquid slop over the side of his mug.

Taking the first sip of his drink, John gave a delighted murmur.

"You make the best tea," he said.

"I don't want to play too much on stereotypes," Elijah said, "but yes. It's a talent. I'm a bit disappointed, though. No Irish Breakfast blend."

John raised an eyebrow.

"Isn't it just the same as English Breakfast?" he asked.

Elijah looked affronted.

"Well, it probably is. But that's not the point, is it?"

His face was stony and serious.

After a moment, the two men burst into laughter. Not wishing to be left out of the merriment, Lyra abandoned her blocks and crawled towards them. She plopped herself down on her rear end and reached upwards.

"Da! Da!"

John set his mug aside and picked up his daughter. She smiled a gap-toothed grin, her front teeth shining like little pearls. When John placed her snugly between himself and Elijah, she looked as content as any child could be.

"How're you holding up?" Elijah asked after a moment of companionable silence.

John mulled the answer over as he sipped his tea.

"I'm okay," he said. "A bit worried. I don't really know what to expect."

Elijah chuckled and ruffled Lyra's feathery blonde hair.

"Questions," he said. "Lots and lots of questions. And it'll be hard - but ultimately, it will be worth it."

Wrapping both hands around the cup, John shrank into himself a little. As the evening wore on, the temperatures were dropping. Even with the climate control inside, John still felt cold. _Maybe it's being used to the island or Five. Maybe it's the fear. I don't know..._ A South Australia spring was very different from the near all year highs on Tracy Island – and on Thunderbird Five, the temperature was whatever he wanted it to be.

"I just want to put all if this behind me," he said at length. "I'm tired of being a victim. Tired of the looks people give me. I know they're not conscious of it but I can see behind their eyes. The only thing they're thinking is that I'm broken."

"Are you?"

Two simple words; so much meaning. John looked down at the surface of his tea, watching the play of the light on the milky ripples.

"No," he said. "Or at least, not so broken that I can't be fixed."

Elijah reached over to cup the side of John's head with one hand.

"If you truly think that, then you're already halfway to recovery."

John leaned into the other man's touch and closed his eyes.

"I hope so," he said. "I really do."


	24. Chapter 24

Shading his eyes against the glaring sun, Gordon watched as the sleek form of Thunderbird Three disappeared into the distance. Almost a week after the scheduled changeover, Alan was finally heading up to Five for his rotation. And when one monitor went up, it meant the other came down. And that thought sent Gordon's stomach into backflips.

The fluttering feeling wasn't one of fear. It was more a sense of acute anticipation. It was accompanied by an itchiness – something akin to an itchy trigger finger. Because of course, Matthew was coming home. That would open up a whole host of new opportunities. It was almost enough to make Gordon's cheeks burn.

Everything had been disjointed, even chaotic, in the fallout of the ruinous wedding. Gordon had spent much of it in hospital and then, almost as soon as he was back, Matthew was leaving. There had been no time to talk, no time to figure out what the hell was happening.

But that didn't seem to matter. Taking up Gordon's hand, Matthew had kissed the backs of his fingers.

"When I get back," he had said, "we'll go wherever things go."

And then he had disappeared into the lounge and down to Three – leaving Gordon stunned, still holding his hand out where Matthew had once held it.

And now Matt was coming back. Gordon wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

Stomach still turning, he released his grip on the balcony rail and headed back into the lounge.

 _I don't quite know what to do_ , he thought as he re-entered the lounge, _but that's half the fun, I guess_.

The room was almost empty. Apart from Gordon, only one figure lingered inside. At the chess table, Brains sat with his head bent over the board. He was staring at the pieces. Sunlight blanked out the lenses of his glasses. He did not move.

 _Something isn't right_ , Gordon thought. _He would have said 'hello' by now._

"Brains?" he asked.

At the sound of his own name, the scientist jumped, jerking his neck upright. He looked around, eyes round and huge behind his thick glasses. When they settled on Gordon, they blinked with relief.

"G-Gordon," Brains said. "S-sorry. It would seem that I was in a w-world of my own."

"A _galaxy_ of your own, more like," Gordon said as he sat at the opposite end of the board. "What's up?"

Despite asking the question, he had a good idea what the answer would be. _Tin-Tin,_ Gordon thought. _It has to be Tin-Tin._

Brains said nothing for some time. He picked up a black knight and rolled it between his fingers. The dark wood shone gold.

"N-nothing is up, really," Brains said. At Gordon's raised eyebrow, he smiled. "Honestly, nothing is _up._ In fact, quite the opposite. I'm f-feeling rather d-down and deflated."

"What's bothering you, Brains?" Gordon asked. Then he pulled his face into a mischievous smirk. "You know I won't let it drop until you tell me, so let's have it now and save all the hassle."

Chuckling, Brains slid down in his chair, closed his eyes and took off his glasses. He still held the knight in one hand.

"I'm being s-silly," he said. "And quite selfish."

He rubbed his eyes, turning the thin skin red.

"Silly and selfish are two things I know very well," Gordon said. "What about?"

Brains opened his eyes again and set his spectacles on the bridge of his nose. He gave Gordon a keen look as he leaned forward.

"I _can_ trust you, can't I?"

Doing his best to look affronted, Gordon splayed one hand on his chest.

"Of course you can," he said. "I'm shocked that you would even gave to ask." Then, after dropping the mock-offended mask, he nodded. "But seriously, Brains, of course you can trust me. Even if it's about one of my brothers, I promise I won't tattle."

Smiling faintly at that detail, Brains unfolded his hand and stared at the knight lying on his palm.

"I g-guess the problem is that I'm not one if these guys," he said. "I'm n-no knight in s-shining armour, nor do I ride out to g-glory or death."

Gordon let the words wash over him for a few moments before responding.

"Do you really think that's what Tin-Tin wants?" he asked.

Closing his fist around the chess piece, Brains shrugged.

"The only thing I know is that she _doesn't_ want me," he said.

He tossed the knight onto the board. It slid for a few seconds before coming to rest at the foot of the queen. Brains gave a self-depreciating snort and gestured at the scene.

"That's how I feel," he said, his voice suddenly stronger. "I f-feel like I'm always down at her feet, begging to be noticed." He picked up the queen and placed it beside the king. "But she doesn't notice me, doesn't need me, because she has her king."

The pang of sorrow in Gordon's chest felt like a knife wound. _Poor guy..._ He reached out and righted the knight again. Then he put the queen beside it.

"She does need you," he said. "She does notice you. Just... Not in the way you'd like, I guess."

Brains sat back again and folded his arms.

"I know," he said, those two syllables conveying more pain than should have been possible. "There's n-nothing I can do. And now that we're planning this s-surprise wedding, it's dawned on me that I'll have to be there. I'll have to watch her m-marry another man and -" His voice caught. "I don't know if I can do it, I don't know if I can sit through the ceremony but e-equally, there's no way I can get out of it without hurting her. How c-can I explain? How can I tell her that I love her and I always h-have? It's _too late_."

As if a cork had popped, words started pouring out, faster and faster.

"I c-can't bear the thought of hurting her. The idea of her hating m-me is even worse. And anyway, I have no right to p-put my troubles on her - or A-Alan, for that matter. They're getting married. It's a t-time of looking forward, n-not looking back." He drew in a deep breath to calm himself. When he continued, his voice was unbearably small. "I m-missed my opportunity a l-long time ago. And now I'm s-suffering for it."

Reaching out, Gordon put a hand on Brains's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "I wish there was something I could do."

With a grateful smile, Brains nodded.

"Th-thank you, Gordon. I ap-preciate the concern. I wish there was something to be done. But there simply isn't."

Gordon slid his hand from his friend's shoulder as Brains stood.

"I'm heading back to the lab," he said. "There's a p-project I set on the b-back burner for some time that I've recently come back to."

"Anything cool?" Gordon asked, smiling as he rose.

Brains clasped his hands on front of his stomach and nodded.

"It will be if I can g-get it to work." He started to move away. "S-see you later, Gordon. And thanks again."

Giving Brains a little salute, Gordon watched as his slumped-shouldered form disappeared towards the lab. _I feel so bad for him_ , he thought. _I just wish I could help..._

 **~oOo~**

 _Just breathe. In... Out..._

The chair was comfortable. More comfortable, perhaps, than a chair in a therapist's office should have been. But John wasn't in a therapist's office. He was in a parlour room on an Australian sheep ranch, waiting.

The ceiling was sloped and panelled with dark wood. The decoration was, once again, _interesting_. It was a strange hybrid of aboriginal art and high fashion. _And yet it works,_ John thought. _Bizarre_.

He pulled his attention away from an ornate wood carving on the far wall and returned his gaze to the man in the other chair. They hadn't yet spoken to one another. The man was smiling.

"So," he said. "It's nice to meet you, John. I'm Solomon Davies - you can call me Sol."

His grin was easy, his teeth white against his dark lips. His close-cropped black hair curled tightly against his skull and there was something warm about his amber eyes. John took a deep breath and nodded.

"Okay, Sol," he said.

The stiffness of his own tone made John blink. He felt his cheeks burn and he ran a hand through his blond quiff.

"Sorry," he said with a nervous laugh. "I guess I never expected to be in this position."

Sol nodded, the friendliness still shining from his eyes.

"I understand," he said. "Try not to worry about it. Just focus on the fact that you're taking steps towards something positive."

John slumped down in his seat and nodded.

"Yeah..."

At his deflated tone, Sol's expression became impossibly understanding. When he spoke again, the words were soft as snow.

"What's on your mind, John?" he asked.

Once again, John found himself lacking the words to express how he felt. It was like his once extensive vocabulary had left him, leaving behind empty and dusty corridors in his mind. Trying to find the words was like trying to hold the ocean in one hand. Frustration began to bubble inside him and John felt his anger rise.

"I'm not doing this," he said.

He stood. Sol remained in his seat.

"Okay," Sol said. There was no condemnation in his voice. "No one is going to force you. I won't stop you from walking out that door. But just pause for a moment. _Why_ don't you want to do this?"

There was something about the way the words flowed from Sol's mouth that made John do as he was told. It was the gentleness, the understanding that seemed to permeate every syllable. Frozen on the spot, John felt tears start to brim.

"I don't want to do this because...because..." He groaned in frustration and balled his hands into fists. "Because I don't know _how_. I don't know what to say. I don't have the words to describe how fucking _destroyed_ I am as a human being."

Sol didn't blink at the explosive swear. His face remained open.

"I think you just found a word," he said. "So that's a start. Let's talk about it."

Slowly, John lowered himself into the chair. The soft seat seemed to envelop him. He stared down at his fingernails and then at the dark wood floor below.

"So, what do you mean by 'destroyed as a human being,' John," Sol asked.

Biting his lip, John shrugged.

"Maybe I don't mean destroyed," he said.

Sol fanned out his fingers.

"Maybe you don't," he said, "but I find that the first thing you say is often the most honest. So let's explore that. What do you mean by 'destroyed'?"

Fumbling over his words, John fought back against panic rising in his throat. Eventually, he managed to start a sentence.

"What I mean is that I feel exactly that: destroyed. Ruined. Broken. No longer...no longer worth anything."

Sol nodded. He shifted in his chair.

"That's understandable, John," he said. "It's very common for victims of sexual abuse to feel that way."

At the sound of those words, John flinched. Sol paused for a moment before he went on.

"You're entitled to feel how you feel," he said. "Tell me about what happened - in your own time, in your own words. And we will get through this."

The earnestness in his words made John's chest tighten. But it also made his mouth open and, finally, John's words started to return.


	25. Chapter 25

The wheel of time forever turns and nothing can stop it. Days turned to weeks and Halloween drew ever-closer. On the surface, it looked like business as usual on the island. _Nothing to see here, move along_...

Gordon chuckled as he pried open the lid of yet another crate that had been delivered that morning. Something shimmered inside; it was bunting. _Must be part of Virgil's grand plans,_ he thought _. I wish he'd tell me the theme!_

He peered inside again, trying to decipher the mysterious shapes inside.

"What have you got there, Gordon?"

 _Crap sticks!_ He let the lid snap shut again and turned. Tin-Tin was smiling at him, looking particularly resplendent with a bright pink flower in her hair.

"Oh, nothing much," Gordon said, toying with the edge of the lid. "I was just being nosy. It's another delivery for Brains."

" _Another_ one?" Tin-Tin asked. "What on earth is he working on? There's been a steady stream of deliveries for him for the past few weeks."

"Who knows, Tin-Tin?" Gordon said. "He's always up to something in that lab."

Trying not to be seen, he started tapping Morse code into his watch.

 _NEED YOUR HELP_ , he sent to Brains. _TIN-TIN SNOOPING IN HANGAR B. COME QUICKLY._

"It just all seems so strange," Tin-Tin said, trying to crane her neck around Gordon to see the crate. "He usually tells me everything about his experiments. This one seems top secret."

"Who knows?" Gordon asked. Then, sensing an opportunity, he looked at her out of the side of his eyes. "It could be - oh, never mind."

Perplexed, Tin-Tin's brow furrowed.

"No, go on," she said. "What were you going to say?"

Gordon heaved a sigh - perhaps overacting slightly - and leaned against the crate.

"Oh, you know. Brains has a lot of... _affection_ for you, Tin-Tin, if you get my meaning. I think he's just finding it hard, knowing that you'll soon be married to Alan and all."

Tin-Tin's face darkened. For a moment, Gordon's chest tightened. _Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. I shouldn't have brought up the wedding..._

"Poor Brains," she said. "I wish there was something I could do."

 _Phew!_ Gordon thought, mentally wiping his brow. _Saved by Tin-Tin's overwhelming compassion for others!_

"I know," Gordon said. "Maybe you could, I don't know, spend some time with him? Just to show that you're still there for him?"

Tin-Tin's eyes went impossibly wide.

"Oh, I don't want to make things worse," she said.

Gordon waved a finger at her and cocked his head to the side.

"But remember, Tin, he doesn't _know_ that you know how he feels. He thinks you're in the dark and always have been."

Placing a hand over her heart, Tin-Tin nodded.

"Oh, of course," she said.

"So you wouldn't make it obvious that you were feeling sorry for him," Gordon said. "Just be normal. Act natural. Go for a friendly walk on the beach or something. He just wants to know that you're still his friend."

Before she could reply, the side door to the hangar opened and in walked the man himself.

"Oh, h-hello there, Gordon, Tin-Tin," Brains said. "I've just come to see if there's any, uh, m-mail for me today."

With a grin, Tin-Tin gestured to the crate Gordon was still leaning on.

"Yes, another delivery!" she said with a smile. "Whatever you're working on in that lab of yours must be very complex if you need all of these different components."

Blinking like a bewildered owl, Brains looked at Gordon. _Get with the program, man!_ Gordon thought.

"Brains," he said. "Can you please make sure this crate gets to your lab nice and safely – just like all the other ones that have been arriving?" He flicked his eyes towards Tin-Tin. "We wouldn't want anything inside exploding or disappearing, _would we_?"

For a moment, Brains looked at Gordon as if he had grown two heads. But then the penny dropped hard and he nodded - a bit too theatrically.

"Oh, y-yes Gordon, of course!" he said, reaching for a trolley. "I'll t-take it right away."

"And afterwards," Tin-Tin said, a shade too quickly, "maybe we can go for a walk on the beach? It would be lovely to spend some time with you, Brains."

Blinking again, Brains slid the trolley under the crate and tipped it up.

"Th-that would be s-swell, Tin-Tin. I'll meet you -"

Just then, the emergency klaxon sounded. Gordon tried to hide his scowl. _Dammit! So close!_ Then he pasted a determined grin on his face.

"Well, let's get to it!" he said.

The three compatriots made their way to the lounge where the crew had gathered. They were the last to arrive, so Alan's assessment was already well underway.

"...local authorities estimate that there could be as many as sixteen bikers trapped in that mountain pass, Father. They're worried that there could be fatalities."

"Alright, Alan," Jeff said. "Keep us appraised of any further developments and tell them we're on the way."

Gordon slid in beside Virgil, who leaned over.

"Avalanche in Mongolia. Sixteen mountain bikers are trapped and the authorities have no way of getting them out."

Gordon nodded and Jeff turned his attention to his crew.

"Scott, away you go. We'll need you to appraise the situation."

"Right away, Father," he said.

As Scott disappeared through the secret entrance to One's hangar, Virgil stood.

"I'll follow with Pod Five. It sounds like we might need the Mole."

Jeff nodded.

"Take Gordon and Matthew with you," he said.

"F.A.B."

For the first time, Gordon caught Matthew's eye. The redhead winked at him and fell in step as they headed to the passenger elevator.

"Here we go again," he said.

Gordon grinned and opened the bar-gate.

"Yes," he said. "Ready for another challenge?"

"Always," Matthew said as they clipped the safety rail in place.

The elevator began to descend. Gordon was about to make another comment but found himself silenced as Matthew leaned in, spun him around and pressed a kiss to his lips.

Stunned, Gordon blinked.

The elevator stopped its descent and clicked into place. Matthew left first, winking before disappearing to the locker where his uniform was kept. Gordon followed, brushing his lips with his fingertips.

 **~oOo~**

" _Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird_."

Still keening and whining, Lyra squirmed in the cot. It took all of John's strength not to reach in and lift her. Instead, he contented himself with a hand on her front.

" _And if that mockingbird don't sing, Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring_."

John turned as he felt a hand on his waist. He shook his head.

"I don't like this nursery rhyme much," John said. "It suggests that money can buy happiness."

With a quiet snort, Elijah shook his head and leaned in to peer at the child in the crib.

"I think you're reading into it too much," he said. "She's not even a year old yet."

John rubbed gentle circles on his daughter's stomach.

"That doesn't matter," he said. "She's smart."

Elijah rolled his eyes, then leaned in to pet Lyra's head.

"Sure, we'll try something else then."

He began to sing.

 _"_ _In Dublin_ _'_ _s fair city,_

 _Where girls are so pretty,_

 _I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone,_

 _As she pushed her wheelbarrow_

 _Through streets broad and narrow,_

 _Crying,_ _'_ _Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh_ _!'"_

Finding himself grinning, John joined in. It was a song he had heard many times when he lived in Cambridge, Mass.

 _"Alive alive, o-oh, alive alive, o-oh,_

 _Crying,_ _'_ _Cockles and mussels, alive, alive o-oh!_ _'"_

Then he stopped and shook his head.

"Wait a minute. Doesn't she die in this song?" he asked.

Elijah stopped mid-lyric and frowned.

"My god, man. It doesn't matter. She's not even one! And anyway," he added as he pointed at her, "she's dropped off now."

Indeed, she had. Her delicate blonde eyelashes were fluttering against her cheeks - red from teething - and her breathing had settled.

John withdrew his hand.

"Hopefully she'll stay asleep for a while. Her mouth has been killing her today."

With the lights dimmed and the door ajar, the two men crept out and down to the lounge. It was only seven-thirty and the evening was theirs, barring any interjections from the baby. Elijah took a detour and defaulted to his tea-making state. John went into the lounge and descended into the couch area.

The cushions were soft as clouds as he sank into them. He heaved a sigh and let his muscles start to unwind. It had been a _long_ day.

Today's session had marked the end of his second week of therapy and Solomon had gone home for the weekend. In truth, John was exhausted – painfully so. It was, however, a good kind of pain. At long last, he was able to talk through his issues, to face his fears and demons - as he saw it, to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

When Elijah reappeared with two steaming cups, John gave him a weary smile.

"Tired?" Elijah asked as he sat beside him.

"Always," John replied.

They sat together and caught the evening news. The headline story was an ongoing rescue in the Khangai mountain range in Mongolia. Night was starting to fall there. The two men looked at one another over the rims of their cups.

"They'll be fine," Elijah said.

"Yeah," John replied.

It only took a few seconds before they looked at each other again.

"Shall we call the island?" Elijah asked.

After a moment's thought, John shook his head.

"No. It's better if we don't disturb Dad mid-rescue."

Elijah nodded and ran a fingertip around the rim of the cup.

"I guess we'll just have to wait it out here."

"Yeah... I can't wait until we get back," John said.

"Good," said Elijah. "Always look forward and never back."

They cuddled on the couch for a while, content in each other's company – though the thought of their brothers was not far from their minds.

 **~oOo~**

"Whoa there, partner!" Matthew said in his best cowboy accent. "I think we're at the end of the rope!"

Neighing like a horse, Gordon felt his body jolt as Matthew stopped the winch. He was dangling down into the mountain pass, hanging from Two by a thread. The craft couldn't get in closer as the pass was too narrow.

"I feel like a booger!" Gordon said.

" _And you resemble one, too_ ," Virgil said. " _How is it looking down there_?"

Gordon tutted at his brother's remark.

"Rude," he said. Then he was back to business. "I can see the bikers," he said. "They're waving but some of them seem to be on the ground. Probably injured. I'm still quite a distance from them, though. The winch cable isn't anywhere near long enough."

" _As we thought_ ," Virgil said. " _Are you still happy to proceed with the plan_?"

Gordon chuckled and checked the pack straps around his shoulders.

"Ready and willing and raring to go!" he said. "I just hope this new invention of Brains's works!"

" _In fairness_ ," Matthew said, " _if it doesn't, you won't really have time to find out!_ "

Gordon chuckled as he performed his final safety checks.

"Again, rude," he said. "Alright, boys. I'm ready. Wish me luck!"

Without waiting to hear their responses, Gordon slammed the top of his helmet with one fist and then with the other hand, simply detached himself from the winch cable.

It felt like he was falling at a thousand miles per hour and he was glad he had placed his left hand just in the right place. Hurtling into the abyss below, he pressed the button.

And then he was lifted upwards as two wings exploded from his backpack. His whoop of joy was loud enough to rattle his own ears as the usually sea-bound Tracy was lifted into the air, gliding through the pass.

It didn't take long for the walls to start encroaching and so Gordon moved on to part two of the plan. As his speed decreased, he reconfigured the harness so his body hung vertically instead of horizontally. Then, he activated the jets.

They were like a miniature version of Two's VTOLs. As they were deployed, the flying suit's wings retracted. By the time he reached the bottom, he landed gently on his feet.

"Landing successful," Gordon said as he started to unbuckle himself from the suit and harness.

" _F.A.B_.," Scott said. " _Well done, Gordon. Now, triage the cyclists while we figure out the best way to come in with the Mole. Virgil will retreat to the landing area and Alan will figure out the best route in_. As soon as the Mole's en route, I'll let you know."

"F.A.B.," Gordon said as he unclipped his helmet. "Just make it as fast as you can. I don't really want to become a Tracy pancake if there's another avalanche."

" _Understood_ ," Scott said.

Some of the victims were already coming towards Gordon. He slid the medical pack from his back, hoping it hadn't been too damaged by the weight of the harness on top of it.

"Takk Gud!" a man said. There was dried blood on his shins and his forehead. "Noen av oss er stygt skadd."

"Uhh," Gordon said, lifting the now open medical pack. "English?"

"Yes, yes," the man said. "Sorry. I said that some of us are badly hurt. Some of the riders need serious medical attention."

Gordon tried not to frown and instead schooled his expression into one of determination.

"Okay," he said. "Let me see them."

The man started to lead Gordon but stopped abruptly and turned around.

"How are you going to get us out of here?" he asked. "Does that…wing suit go back up again?"

Gordon urged the man to keep walking and shook his head.

"No, it doesn't," he said. "But don't worry. We have a plan."


	26. Chapter 26

"Dammit," Virgil said. "The nearest place to land is nearly five miles away."

Scott's voice crackled over the comm.

" _The Mole can max out at 50 miles per hour_ ," he said.

"Maybe in good conditions," Virgil replied. "Not over rocky terrain."

" _We'll just have to deal with it_ ," Scott said. " _Do your best_."

Setting Two down on the only patch of vaguely flat land in the vicinity, Virgil grunted.

"We don't have a choice." He started the systems for raising the great green fuselage to release the pod underneath. "How much progress has Alan made with that plan?"

His little brother's voice broke in.

" _I figure if you head about two miles north-northwest into the mountain, you'll reach a point where you can safely start to tunnel. The geological data for that part of the mountain range shows that you shouldn't have a problem drilling through. I'll send you the co-ordinates to follow but I'll also be monitoring your progress to check for any deviations from the course._ "

Virgil stood as Two's ascent finished. The clunk of the telescopic legs seemed to resonate in his chest.

"F.A.B., Alan," he said. "We're on the way."

 **~oOo~**

"Would you like to take that walk now, Brains?"

Looking up, Brains set his book down on the kitchen table. It was a long treatise on the newest developments in ophthalmic technology. He smiled as Tin-Tin as she lingered in the doorway.

"I g-guess I could use the b-break," he said.

"Good," Tin-Tin said. "Mrs Tracy is looking after Adam to give us time for a little stroll. And to be honest, I need something to take my mind off the rescue."

Brains smiled anew and tapped the textbook.

"That-s e-exactly why I'm doing some l-light reading," he said. "I don't like to th-think too much about the boys and their missions when th-there's not a l-lot I can do to help them."

He stood as Tin-Tin came over to look at the book cover.

"Opthalmics?" she asked, perplexed. Then she looked at Brains with a new excitement in her eyes. "Brains, are you working on what I think you're working on?"

As he pushed the chair under the table, Brains nodded.

"It's j-just a lot of research and p-prototypes at the moment," he said. "It's s-something that I've considered for some time now. I suppose I d-didn't do much about it s-since I felt it was too self-serving." He tapped his thick blue glasses frames. "Now, I s-suppose you could say I have a re-renewed interest."

Then, without warning, he was swept into a hug. Stunned, he stood still for a moment before allowing his arms to lightly wrap around Tin-Tin's back.

"Oh, Brains," she said. "You are such a good man."

Trying not to think too much about the scent of her hair, of her perfume, Brains patted her back. She extricated herself and grinned again. Her face seemed to glow with pride.

"As I said, it's a-all very theoretical at present," Brains continued. "H-however, I do think I c-can make something of it."

"Wouldn't that be wonderful?" Tin-Tin asked. "I suppose that might explain some of those deliveries for you."

She waved a finger at him in mock-accusation. Brains simply shrugged and looked away, trying not to look too suspicious. _I don't want to lie to her_ , he thought. _But I also don't want to give the game away!_

"Now, come on," Tin-Tin said, looping her arm into his. "Let's go. It'll be nice to spend some time together, you and I. Friends for all time."

Those words were some of the most bittersweet Brains had ever felt. _Yes, friends for all time_ , he thought. _If I can't have you as I'd like, at least I can have you as the best friend a man could have._

Off they went, arm in arm, as the sun began to set on the island.

 **~oOo~**

"We're nearly through," Virgil said.

" _Adjust your heading right-right three degrees, Virg,_ " Alan said. " _Then you'll come out directly where you need to be._ "

Making the correction to his heading, Virgil nodded.

"Then we can get those people out of there."

In the seat beside him, Matthew nodded.

"We'll have to make a few trips in this thing," he said. "I remember being crammed in with a million other people in the Firefly. That was not fun!"

Nodding, Virgil checked the thermal imaging camera. They were so close now.

"Gordon will have triaged the victims. We'll take them out in order of priority. It shouldn't take too long."

" _Virgil, you're just about to break through_ ," Scott said. " _Keep her steady."_

"F.A.B."

Sure enough, within seconds the Mole had broken through. Virgil kept enough of her chassis inside the bored out tunnel to make sure her tracks would still grip. Then both he and Matthew headed for the access port.

The first face the greet them was Gordon's. He was grimy and covered in others' crusted blood. Otherwise, he was smiling.

"Took you slow-pokes long enough," he said.

Virgil shook his head but still smiled.

"We're here now. We'll try and take them out four at a time if we can. How are we looking in terms of casualties?"

Gordon started rolling off the information, counting on his fingers.

"Three broken legs – two on the same person. Plus a severe concussion and a suspected broken clavicle. They should all go first. After that, it's mostly just abrasions."

A voice called out behind him and Gordon winced. Matthew and Virgil looked at one another.

"Sir, sir!"

"Oh, god," Gordon said. " _This_ guy." Then he schooled his face into a vapid smile and turned around. "Yes?"

"Are we going to be able to take our bikes back or what?"

The man was from somewhere in North America, though Virgil couldn't quite place the accent.

"As I said, _sir_ ," Gordon replied, "our priority is getting the people out. We have limited space and limited time. We'll only be transporting people."

The man's eyes bulged and he balled his hands into fists.

"There are two thousand dollars' worth of tech in my bike alone!" he said. "You have to take it out."

Before he could say anything further, Matthew stepped in and planted his hands on his hips. Virgil had to admit, the tall and muscular redhead cut an intimidating figure. The man swallowed.

"The man said we'll only be transporting people," Matthew said. "That's the end of it."

Looking as though he was going to argue with him, Matthew tilted his chin up a little. The man backed down.

"Alright," he muttered.

He turned on his heel, pausing to throw a filthy look at Matthew before scurrying away. Virgil shook his head.

"Some people," he said.

"Aye," Matthew said.

Gordon tried to keep the smirk from his face.

"Alright, let's get the first group out," he said. "We're rapidly losing light and we don't need to overcomplicate things with darkness."

"I'll stay behind with Mr Golden Bike," Matthew said. "He'll not be asking any more questions about retrieving it, that's for sure."

The trio headed towards the casualties. Virgil activated his comm.

"Scott, we've got several broken bones and a number of others who will require medical attention," he said. "Can you make sure medical crews are standing by?"

" _They're already on their way_ ," Scott said.

"F.A.B.," Virgil replied.

 **~oOo~**

Sharing a sunset together was supposed to be romantic. And it was. For that reason, Brains felt dirty. _I feel like I'm betraying Alan,_ he thought. _Even though we haven't done anything wrong and have no intention of doing so!_

He and Tin-Tin were sitting on a promontory, looking out onto the ocean. The sun was slipping away, painting the stippled waves gold.

"It's so lovely," Tin-Tin said.

Brains nodded and picked at the tropical grass under his hand.

"Y-yes," he said. "I imagine you'd r-rather be looking at it with a certain someone e-else."

He knew the self-deriding comment would elicit a response from Tin-Tin. However, the response he got was not the one he was expecting.

"Oh, not really," she said softly. "Alan still can't sit still long enough to appreciate something like this. He's always moving, always looking towards the next thing. Sometimes it feels like he doesn't know how to appreciate the present."

Brains wasn't quite sure what to say to that, so he said nothing. Instead, he wrapped a supportive arm around Tin-Tin's shoulders.

"I th-think he's found it d-difficult to grow up in this s-special family," he said. "It must be v-very difficult when you have five high achieving sets of footprints to follow in."

Nodding, Tin-Tin leaned into Brains's embrace.

"Yes," she said. "But he's a good man. I'm glad he's at least settled down enough to be a father and to commit."

Her voice stumbled over the last word. Her whole body seemed to stiffen. Brains turned to look at her, supporting her shoulders with his hands.

"What's wrong, Tin-Tin?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm just being silly again about the wedding," she replied, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. "We've talked about what to do. Mrs Tracy and Mr Tracy both suggested that we schedule a day at a registry office and, well, we have."

Brains tried to smile.

"Well, th-that's good," he said. Then he paused. "Isn't it?"

"Oh yes, yes!" Tin-Tin said, her voice distorted by her sorrow. "It's just not really what I envisaged as my wedding day. Just myself and Alan, eloping."

Sensing an opportunity, Brains smiled again and squeezed her shoulders.

"I think it's a s-sensible idea," he said.

Tin-Tin's eyes widened.

"You do?"

"Y-yes," Brains said. "It means that, when you make that commitment, it will just be the three of you – Alan, Tin-Tin and Adam. You won't need to worry about catering or decoration or anyone else at all. And I'm sure there'll be a celebration on the island when you return. What date have you picked?"

"October 31st," Tin-Tin replied. "We'll be back in the evening to celebrate Lyra's birthday."

Smiling again, Brains nodded.

"So it'll be a double celebration," he said. "Don't worry, Tin-Tin. Everything will work out. Everything happens for a reason."

Sniffling, Tin-Tin wiped her eyes again and nodded.

"I suppose so," she said. Then she gave a choked laugh. "And at least I won't have to look for another elaborate dress!"

Brains joined in her laughter as Tin-Tin pulled him into another hug. As he rubbed circles between her shoulder blades, he smiled. _Don't worry, Tin-Tin_ , he thought. _Everything_ will _work out perfectly for you. I promise..._

 **~oOo~**

Filthy and weary, Gordon and his two compatriots flopped down in the seats in Two's cockpit.

"Thank god that's over!" he said.

Matthew nodded but raised a loose fist.

"I still say you should have let me deck him," he said.

Virgil started to engage Two's systems and started the descent onto the pod.

"It wouldn't be the first time one of our operation hit someone!"

Matthew dropped his fist and shook his head, confused.

"Really?"

Gordon stretched to release the tension in his back and nodded.

"Yeah. Alan had a bit of trouble with someone one and… _Bam_! Right in the eye."

Barking out a laugh, Matthew grinned.

"Good one!" he said. "Did the guy deserve it?"

"The way Alan tells it," Virgil said as they started to ascend, "he did. But I have some…suspicions about the whole thing. Guy was a singer that Tin-Tin really liked, and…"

"Ah," Matthew said. "Understood."

"Thunderbird Two to Base," Virgil said, "we're on our way home."

" _F.A.B., Virgil_ ," Jeff said, the pride clear in his voice. " _Well done_."

Slouching back in the seat, Gordon glanced at his watch. It was still on island time. After a quick calculation, he nodded.

"What?" Matthew asked.

"We're five hours behind the island but only an hour behind central Australia," Gordon said. "It's nine-thirty p.m. there. I think I'd like to make a call…"

Grinning, Matthew jumped over to the seat beside him and pressed his face in close to Gordon's watch.

"Do it!"

Though he couldn't see it, Gordon imagined that Virgil was rolling his eyes.

"Gordon to John," Gordon said. "Yoo-hoo, are you there?"

After a few moments, the watch face lit up and John appeared, his blonde hair sticking up in all directions.

"Gordon," he said, blinking against fatigue. He had clearly been asleep. "What's wrong? Is everything okay?" There was a voice in the background and John turned away. "It's Gordon."

Raising an eyebrow, Gordon cast a sidelong glance at Matthew.

"I do believe we've disturbed our siblings in _bed_ ," he said.

John's face reappeared in the watch. As the fog of sleep started to wear off, he frowned.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Everything is a-okay," Gordon said. "Just wanted to check in with you. We're on our way back to the island now."

Elijah's face appeared over John's shoulder. Matthew huffed and exaggerated sigh and shook his head.

"Lazy layabout!" he said. "I've been out here working my wee socks off and you're in bed."

"Also wearing no socks," Elijah said around a yawn. "I can smell you from here, lad. I bet you stink. Take a shower."

"You're smelling yourself, son," Matthew replied. "I smell only of victory."

"And body odour," Virgil called.

Matthew flattened his expression into a frown and sighed again.

"All hands raised against me," he muttered.

Gordon chuckled and returned his attention to John.

"I just wanted to keep you in the loop," he said. "I know you probably didn't want to call."

"You're right about that," John said. "I didn't. But I'm glad you thought of me."

"I always do," Gordon said. "I'll call you tomorrow if that's alright?"

John smiled. It was a more genuine smile than Gordon had seen from him in some time. _Hopefully he's getting better_ , he thought.

"That'll be fine," John said. "I have a day off tomorrow."

"Great," Gordon said. "Alright, well we'll let you two get back to…whatever you were doing."

He gave his brother an exaggerated wink. John rolled his eyes. So did Elijah.

"Sleeping," John said.

"Sure you were." Gordon smiled. "Okay, I'll talk to you tomorrow."

There was a chorus of goodbyes from both sides. By the time Gordon was able to drop his wrist, his arm was aching.

"You might need a shower," he said to Matthew, "but I think I need a bath. My muscles are killing me."

"I do not smell!" Matthew said.

Tentatively, he raised an arm to sniff at his armpit. He frowned.

"Or perhaps I do."

 **~oOo~**

 _Takk Gud!_ \- Thank God!

 _Noen av oss er stygt skadd_ \- Some of us are badly hurt.


	27. Chapter 27

Bittersweet. That was the perfect word to describe how she was feeling. Tin-Tin slipped her wedding outfit – not a gown this time, but rather a well-tailored cream skirt and blouse combo – into her case and sighed.

Alan crossed from the other side of the bed, slid his arms around her waist and pulled her in for a hug.

"What's wrong, Tin?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing," she said. "I'm so happy that today is our wedding day. I really am! It's just… It's not what I expected."

Alan pressed a kiss to the top of her head and squeezed her tightly.

"I know," he said. "But like Dad and your father said, it's probably for the best." Crawling across the bed to his parents, Adam clamoured for attention. "We'll all be together," Alan continued as he scooped the child up. "Tin-Tin and Adam and Alan, our own little family."

Smiling, Tin-Tin reached out to stroke her son's cheek. She nodded; it was a slight movement.

"I know," she said. "I still find it a bit strange that they're both in favour of it. But the most important thing is that you and I, and Adam, of course, are together."

At the mention of his name, the little boy beamed.

"Mama! Mama, Dada!"

Alan chuckled and held the boy aloft.

"That's right," he said. "Mama and I are getting married today!"

Adam giggled with delight as he was raised into the air and mock-dropped a few times.

Tin-Tin smiled indulgently at the father and son scene before returning her attention to her case.

"By the time we get back later," Alan said, "John, Lyra and Elijah will be back. Isn't that right, Adam? Your little playmate will be back again!"

After zipping her suitcase shut, Tin-Tin leaned on it.

"How are they getting back to the island?" she asked.

"I think father said something about sending Gordon in Tracy One to pick them up. Anyway, we don't need to worry about that. We just need to concentrate on ourselves."

Supressing another sigh, Tin-Tin nodded.

"I suppose so," she said.

 _Well, we're all packed and ready to go_ , she thought. _I just wish I felt happier about it. I almost feel like calling the whole thing off. What's a wedding without family around you?_

Saying nothing of her thoughts, she took Adam into her arms and let Alan grab their cases.

"Wellington and wedded bliss," he said, "here we come!"

Putting on her bravest face, Tin-Tin nodded and smiled – but there were tears glistening in her eyes.

 **~oOo~**

"John, Elijah, darlings," Penelope said as she entered the lounge, "It's _wonderful_ to see you."

Dressed in the latest François Lemaire Autumn range – perfect for travelling, as the fabric never wrinkled – Penelope peeled off her gloves. She smiled as the two men stood up from the couch. Even as she smiled, her keen eyes zoomed in on every detail of Jeff's elder blond. _Before you even speak, young man,_ she thought, _I shall know how you really are_.

In truth, she was pleasantly surprised. The last time she had seen John, he had been battered within an inch of his life. She had cradled his bloodied head in her lap, appealing to whatever forces were at work in the universe to just let the man live. She hadn't thought much about recovery at that time. It seemed that she needn't have worried.

The stint in Bongo-Bongo seemed to have done him a world of good. There was an easiness about his posture that hadn't been there in a long time. Even behind the glasses Penny just _couldn't_ get used to, she could see a sheen of joy in his eyes that had been long lost. _Clearly, Jeff's plan has worked._

Penelope hadn't had a second thought about agreeing to let Jeff use her sheep station as a proving ground for John's recovery. _It makes sense to deal with such tragedies and traumas away from the scene of the crime_ , she thought. _I'm glad I've been able to help – even in such a small way_.

As John approached her, a little blond-headed blur whizzed past. Penelope did a double take.

"That cannot be Lyra," she said. "She can't be _running_ already, can she?"

John shrugged and reached out to kiss Penelope on the cheek. _Another good sign!_ she thought.

"It is and she can," John replied. "She _shouldn't_ be, but she is."

Elijah had disappeared in pursuit of the blond blur, leaving the two of them alone. Parker was still outside, attending to their… _other_ guests.

Seizing the opportunity to talk, Penelope took one of John's hands and gave it a squeeze.

"How are you, John?" she asked. " _Really_. Do remember, I am an expert in detecting lies."

With a soft chuckle, John squeezed her hand back.

"I am a lot better," he said.

Using all of her skills, Penelope tested that theory. _Fewer lines about the eyes, dark circles abating, straightened posture, hair and clothing well-attended to – and shoes shined. Yes, I think he is telling the truth_.

"I am so glad to hear it," Penelope said.

John nodded.

"I'm so glad to be able to say it," he continued. "I can't say I'm back to one hundred percent but I'm certainly getting there. And I feel more able to get back to the island and back to work."

Frowning slightly, Penelope wagged a finger.

"Now, don't push yourself too hard," she said.

Chuckling again, John relinquished her hand as the sounds of his daughter's return filled the air.

Lyra ran back into the lounge, Elijah on her heels, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors. She was dressed in a purple and teal light sweat suit and had the most enormous grin on her face. At the sight of Penelope, she stopped dead and cocked her head to the side as she stared.

"Who?" she asked.

Penelope had to run the word through her memory several times. Then she looked at John.

"Did she just say 'who'?"

Looking as though he couldn't have been prouder of Lyra had won a Nobel Prize, John nodded.

"Oh yes," he said. "Her speech is coming along very quickly." He turned his attention to his daughter. "Lyra, this is Lady Penelope. She owns this house."

As Lyra stared at her, Penelope was awed by the wisdom and comprehension that seemed to emanate from the glassy blue orbs. _She's an old soul in a young body_ , she thought. _A bit like myself when I was a child, I suppose!_

"Nelope," Lyra said.

" _Pen_ elope," John corrected.

"Penelope," Lyra repeated.

"Good Lord," Penny said. "It's easy to tell that she's your daughter."

At that moment, Parker entered the house, sweating under his many layers of uniform. He was very overdressed for the Australian spring.

"Sorry for the delay, milady," he said, panting slightly. "Miss Amelia was most insistent that she wanted to see the sheep right h'away."

John's eyes widened at the mention of that name.

" _Amelia?_ " he asked.

Just then, two figures appeared in the doorway. Penelope saw tears brim in John's eyes, but she knew they were tears of joy.

" _John_!"

Within half a second, John Tracy had his arms full. Penelope cast an indulgent glance at Georgie, Amelia's cousin, with whom she had spent hours of the journey from England in conversation about everything from fashion to architecture. _A most agreeable woman_ , she thought.

Breaking off the hug, John held Amelia at arm's length and simply marvelled at her. Penelope knew exactly why. The young woman was barely recognisable, no longer the frightened little girl Penny had first sheltered after her ordeal at the hands of her mother.

Instead of a pale figure hiding behind a curtain of dark hair, Amelia had styled her tresses into a stylish pixie cut, letting the whole world see her face. Her blue eyes sparkled with joy at seeing John once again. In fact, everything about her countenance seemed to emit happiness and confidence.

"I can't believe you're _here_ ," John said, looking Amelia up and down. Then he turned to Penelope. "Why didn't you tell me you were bringing her?"

Penelope gave him her best innocent look.

"Well, my dear, that would have rather spoiled the surprise, wouldn't it?"

With crossed arms and leaning her weight on one hip, Georgie blew her hair from her face and pretended to glare.

"What am I, chopped liver?" she asked.

Reddening with embarrassment, John relinquished Amelia so that he could embrace Georgie instead.

"Sorry, sorry!" he said. "I was just… I mean, I'm blown away!"

Patting him on the back, Georgie chuckled.

"I was only pulling your leg," she said. "And is that Lyra? Good God, she's big!"

The girl was standing at Elijah's leg, watching events unfold with keen eyes.

John went to her, took her hand, and led her over to Amelia.

"Lyra," he said. "This is your big sister, Amelia."

"Melia," Lyra said.

Then, after a beat, she stuck out her hand for a handshake. Amelia didn't appear to know how to react – laughter, tears, shock? Penelope tried to hide her own fit of giggles. The one year old looked so _serious_.

Instead of simply shaking her hand, though, Amelia picked her little sister up and pulled her in for a hug.

"I can't believe how big she is!" she said.

"I know," John said. "She changes every day."

There were a few moments of congenial conversation before Penelope coughed and drew everyone's attention.

"Now, before we do anything else," she said, "we must have tea. Then we shall continue on our journey."

Parker, still sweating, started to head to the kitchen. Elijah raised a hand and shook his head.

"Allow me," he said.

Pausing on the spot, Parker looked at Penelope, a slightly bewildered look in his eyes. Penelope in turn looked at John, who grinned.

"Elijah is an excellent brewer of fine teas," he said.

"Alright," Penelope said. "Thank you, Elijah. I would be most obliged. And while we wait," she continued, looping an arm though John's, "we shall compare notes on what we know of the secret wedding. It is all _most_ exciting."

 **~oOo~**

Even before the plane had lifted off the runway, the island exploded into activity. As Alan, Tin-Tin and Adam jetted off to New Zealand, little did they know what they would be returning to.

Grandma Tracy had everything running with military precision. Even Jeff was simply doing as he was told. He chuckled gruffly as he handed Virgil another of the support beams for the rustic wedding arch he was assembling.

"What's so funny, Dad?" Virgil asked as he took the weathered white wood.

"Nothing, son," Jeff said. "I'm just happy – for a number of reasons. Your brother is coming home at last for a start and, not only that, but I get to see one of my sons get married _and_ I get to celebrate the first birthday of my first granddaughter."

Virgil grinned around the screws he held between his teeth.

"A great day," he said around them. "Hold this up for me, will ya?"

Obliging immediately, Jeff supported the piece of wood that Virgil was holding.

Of all the deliveries to the island, the wedding arch had been one of the more difficult to hide – especially as Tin-Tin had walked in when Virgil was inspecting it after delivery.

"I just hope everything words out," Virgil said as he plucked one of the screws from his mouth. "There are a lot of variables here."

"I know, son," Jeff said. "And, as always, our job as International Rescue comes first. However, if fate is on our side, everything will be fine." His face darkened. "Goodness knows that we deserve a little luck after everything we've been through."

"Right," Virgil said.

Their conversation stalled for a moment as he used the cordless drill to assemble one of the arch's crossbeams. Jeff had the next one ready to go as soon as the screws were secure.

"It'll be good to see John again," Virgil said. "From what I've heard and seen of him – through the comms, anyway – things seem to be looking up."

Jeff nodded as he supported the second crossbeam.

"They do," he said. "Penelope and Parker arrived at Bongo-Bongo about a half hour ago after a stopover in Manila last night."

"I take it their guests are also there?" Virgil asked, the rising inflection in his voice overdoing the innocence he was trying to convey.

Jeff chuckled again and nodded.

"Yes, Virgil," he said. "Georgie and Amelia have arrived with them safely. They'll be here in a few hours."

"Good, good," Virgil said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Instead of calling his son on his pretend indifference, Jeff simply rolled his eyes and handed over the next piece of the gazebo. _You can't fool me, Virgil Tracy_ , he thought. _You're as transparent as glass._

Within a half hour, they had finished the assembly. Virgil dusted off his hands and surveyed his work.

"It's perfect," Jeff said.

"It'll do," Virgil replied. "Not my finest work, but there's only so much you can do with flat pack." Bending to replace his tools back in his toolbox, he grunted. "That's not the end of it, though," he said. "There's about three miles worth of bunting that Grandma wants put up _yesterday_. By the time we get to the ceremony, we'll all be exhausted!"

Jeff grunted and turned his attention to the boxes of bunting and other decoration they were to tackle next.

"It'll all be worth it," he said. Then, prying open the box, he saw that three miles may have been an underestimate rather than an exaggeration. "At least, I hope it will!"


	28. Chapter 28

Within four hours, the little family had landed at Wellington and were on the way to their hotel. No matter how fast time ticked by and how soon the wedding approached, Tin-Tin couldn't bring herself to be excited.

It was a fact that had not gone unnoticed by Alan, who didn't seem to know what to do. He fluctuated between sympathetic glances and grimaces of frustration. By the time they got to the hotel, he was about ready to explode.

"Tin-Tin," he said, trying to keep his tone level but failing miserably, "there's no point in going through with this if you're so upset about it."

Tin-Tin turned away from the concierge, who's hadn't yet been able to open his mouth. Her eyes were ablaze.

"Stop treating me as if I'm being unreasonable!" she snapped. "Why shouldn't I be 'so upset'? I'm supposed to be getting married today and it's the _last_ thing I want to do!"

By this stage, she had raised her voice so high that every eye in the lobby was on them. Swept away by her red-hot fury, Tin-Tin couldn't have cared less - though she was abundantly pleased that Adam had fallen asleep in the stroller and wasn't privy to the display.

The concierge stood and placed his hands on the marble counter. He was about to speak but Tin-Tin's glare was so fierce that he didn't dare open his mouth.

"I don't want to get married here," Tin-Tin said, throwing her arms up. "I don't want to get married today, not without my family. Not without my _father_. This was just a terrible, terrible idea and -" Her voice caught as her eyes welled with tears. "Alan, I just want to go _home_!"

His anger subsiding at the sight of his fiancé's tears, Alan turned to the man at the desk.

"We won't be checking in today," he said.

With that, he placed one arm around Tin-Tin's shoulders, grasped the stroller handle with the other, and strode out of the hotel, glaring at anyone who dared have so much as a minor smirk on their face. Behind them, a porter clattered along with their cases.

When they stepped out onto the street again and the warm air hit the cold tear tracks on her face, Tin-Tin felt as though she had been slapped.

"Alan, I'm so sorry," she said, her voice barely audible.

Tipping the porter generously, Alan shook his head and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"It's okay, Tin," he said, though frustration still edged his words. "I just don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix this."

They stood on the sidewalk, surrounded by their cases, with tourists and commuters streaming past. A light wind picked up errant strands of Tin-Tin's hair. Adam stirred in the stroller but didn't wake.

"It's not something you need to fix," Tin-Tin said at length. "It's something that needs to be done properly. I thought this was for the best but now I see it isn't. I think we should just go home."

Leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, Alan nodded.

"Whatever you want," he said. "All I need is for you to be happy. We can get married tomorrow, in five years, even _never_. Whatever you want."

Tin-Tin turned to face him then, reaching up to stroke the side of his face. Light stubble grazed her fingertips. The sunlight caught the blueness of his eyes and Tin-Tin felt her heart lift. This was not the selfish, arrogant young man she had first fallen in love with. It was not the man who took her on a trip around the world, only to say he wasn't ready to settle down.

No. This was her fiancé. This was the father of her child. This was the real Alan Tracy.

"I am so lucky to have you," Tin-Tin said.

"And I'm lucky to have you," Alan said. "I'm the luckiest guy in the whole damn world. Now, come on. I'll hail a cab and we'll go back to the airport. Let's go home."

 **~oOo~**

"Gordon Tracy, don't you dare lick that spoon!"

Gordon was frozen by the icy stare of his grandmother for a few moments. Then, ever so slowly, he set the chocolate coated wooden spoon back into the bowl. On any day, Grandma Tracy was not one to be challenged. Today of all days, it was best to do exactly as she said.

"The last thing I want in my chocolate ganache is your saliva," she said, crossing the kitchen to bat him away.

Gordon held up his hands in supplication and backed away.

"All right, Grandma, all right," he said. "But can you blame me? It smells _so_ good!"

Indeed, everything in the kitchen smelled divine. Between the two of them, Grandma Tracy and Kyrano had managed to create the wedding banquet to end all wedding banquets. Gordon hadn't even realised they owned so much kitchen equipment.

The nuclear cooker was overflowing with bubbling pots and sizzling pans. The ovens were filled with baked ham and turkey and cakes and canapés... Everything you could imagine eating seemed to be on the go, under the careful watch of Grandma and Kyrano.

Plucking up a dish cloth, Grandma whipped it out towards Gordon. He jumped back – just far enough to avoid the tip of the cloth.

"Now, go on, get," Grandma Tracy said, as though he was a dog sniffing for scraps. "Your father should be making the call to get them to come home any minute. Then we only have a few hours until they arrive and there's still a lot to do. Go and make yourself useful!"

Trying to look mournful, Gordon's eyes widened pleadingly. All it earned him was another swipe with the dish cloth. At that, he looked at Kyrano, who was trying his best to keep his face composed.

"Alright, I concede," Gordon said, holding up his hands. "I know where I'm not wanted."

Still, he didn't move off. Grandma swiped at him again.

" _Get_!"

Gordon dodged the cloth this time and fled.

"Gone!" he said.

He skipped off towards the stairway to the upper level and took the steps two at a time. By the time he entered the lounge, he could hear jets in the distance. Gordon's face lit up.

"That must be Penelope!" he said.

Gordon thundered out onto the balcony to join his father, who was looking up into the clear sky. From the distance, a glimmering dot was approaching.

"Penny?" Gordon asked.

His father nodded.

"Yes, with a significant entourage," Jeff said with a chuckle.

"Have you called Alan and Tin-Tin yet?" Gordon asked. "It's about that time."

"Right," Jeff said.

The two men made their way back inside. Just as Jeff sat at his desk, the eyes of Alan's portrait started to blink. Father and son looked at one another, equally perturbed.

Jeff activated the comm. and spoke.

"Go ahead, Alan."

There was a short pause before Alan spoke. Gordon brought his brows down low and shook his head. _Something's not right with him_ , he thought.

" _Father_ ," Alan said, the feed wavering slightly with the movement of his wrist, " _things haven't gone to plan for us today. Without getting into too much detail, we're actually at the airport now and awaiting clearance to fly home again._ "

Jeff cast a glance at Gordon before returning his eyes to Alan's portrait-come-video link.

"I hope nothing's wrong, son," he said.

" _Not really wrong, Dad_ ," Alan said. " _Just…not right. We've decided it's not the time to get married and that Wellington isn't the right place. It doesn't seem right, what with you guys not being here_."

"All right, Alan," Jeff said, trying to keep his tone suitably sympathetic. "Whatever you two want is what matters. What's your ETA for return to the island?"

Alan looked away for a moment as he thought.

" _I'd say about five hours if we get clearance within the next few minutes – which we should_."

"Okay, son. We'll be waiting for you."

" _Right, Dad. And sorry_."

Jeff frowned; deep furrows appeared in his forehead.

"What for?" he asked.

" _Well, I guess it's a bit of a disappointment_ ," Alan said.

"Nonsense," said Jeff. "Maybe it's for the best. You never know what's around the corner for the two – or rather, three – of you. Just get home safely."

Alan smiled, albeit tiredly.

" _Okay, Dad. See you soon_."

At that, the feed cut off and the screen returned to Alan's portrait. Gordon folded his arms and shook his head.

"Well, how about that?" he asked. "You didn't even need to go through with the lie!"

Jeff nodded and smiled, though there was something off about his eyes. Gordon leaned forward a little.

"What, Dad?" he asked.

Jeff waved his concern off.

"Nothing, Gordon," he said. "I just wonder if they'll want to go through with the marriage when they get back. They'll have done a lot of travelling and we don't know what the circumstances are that have led them to calling it off today."

"You don't think they could have had a major bust up, do you?" Gordon asked.

"I don't know, son," Jeff said. "I certainly hope not."

Just then, another comm. line was activated.

" _Tracy H'Island from_ Dream Weaver _._ "

"Tracy Island here," Jeff said. "We heard you on approach, _Dream Weaver_."

"Requesting permission to land, Tracy H'Island," Parker said.

"Granted," Jeff replied. "We'll roll out the welcome party for you all."

" _Most h'obliged_ ," Parker said. "Dream Weaver _out_."

The comm. channel cut off and Gordon grinned.

" _Dream Weaver_?" he asked.

"Penelope's new jet," Jeff said. "As far as I remember, it's named after a type of pink rose."

"Makes sense," Gordon said. "And it's a lot nicer than _FAB 4_. There's only one Four, after all."

Chuckling, Jeff shook his head and rose from his desk.

"Come on," he said. "It's time to greet our guests – and welcome John home."

 **~oOo~**

When he stepped onto the tarmac, Lyra ensconced in his arms, John closed his eyes and simply breathed. _I'm home,_ he thought. _I'm finally home._

Delighted at the excitement and refreshed from a two hour long nap, Lyra glanced all around her, imbibing the scenery. Then something caught her eye and she nearly leapt out of his arms in her excitement.

"Dada! Dada!" she squealed.

Quite what she was pointing at was not immediately clear. However, when John turned around, he knew exactly why his daughter was so excited.

Walking down the runway towards them was a Tracy family welcome party. John couldn't help but grin as Lyra clamoured for her grandfather.

"Gaga! Gaga!"

Wasting no time, Jeff swept in and stole the child from her father's arms, raising her up and spinning in a circle.

"There's my girl!" he said.

The delight on Lyra's face was matched only by the grin on Jeff's. John's gaze was torn away from the sight as he was football tackled by three of his brothers – and the combined strength of Scott, Virgil and Gordon was mighty.

"Guys!" he said.

"Welcome home!" Gordon said, reaching up to grind his knuckles into the top of John's skull.

Cringing slightly but still smiling, John permitted the noogie. When he was able to break free again, he straightened his glasses and shook his head.

"You're all dangerous," he said.

"And you wouldn't have us any other way," Gordon added with a grin.

His gaze travelled over John's shoulder. Turning, John saw the rest of the passengers disembarking from the jet.

"Pass me a fan!" Georgie exclaimed as she descended the metal stairs. "I'm sweating like a sinner in church, here!"

There was a conglomeration of greetings and welcomes and between all of them, they managed to collect all of the luggage – or at least, nearly all of it. John watched as Parker cast a mournful glance at the pile of pinks cases that didn't seem to grow smaller, no matter how many were taken away. _That's Penelope!_ John thought.

Within a few minutes, Lyra had been snagged by Scott. Her delight was clear.

"Sot! Sot sot sot!" she said, wrapping her pudgy arms around her uncle's neck.

Arms now bereft of his granddaughter, Jeff stepped forward to pull John into a brief but tight embrace.

"It's good to have you back, son," he said.

John squeezed his father back and nodded.

"It's good to be back, Father," he said. "In body and spirit."

It was possible that there were the beginnings of tears sparkling in Jeff's eyes. They seemed to disappear as soon as John saw them. Then the attention of both men was drawn away as Virgil stepped towards Georgie, coughed and reached for her suitcases.

"May I?" he asked.

Georgie, fanning herself with her hands, nodded and gave him a devilish grin.

"You have no idea how much you _may_ ," she said.

John tried to disguise a snort as a cough; whether Virgil heard him or not was unclear. Like the quintessential gentleman, Virgil reached out to take Georgie's cases and gave her a shallow bow.

"Milady," he said.

Before he could say anything else, Amelia bounced up to John and grabbed onto his arm.

"This is so cool," she said. "An actual private island!"

John shook his head and shrugged.

"You've been here before," he said.

"I know," Amelia replied. "That doesn't mean it's not still cool."

Plastic wheels rolled on the tarmac as Elijah brought their cases over and settled them in front of John's feet.

"Glad to be home?" he asked.

John glanced around, taking in the glistening silver and amethyst ocean, the swaying palm fronds, the hazy golden sun hovering in the sky. Then he looked from one face to another, tracing the features of nearly all of his family and friends. And, smiling so widely that his cheeks hurt, John nodded and folded his arms, Amelia still holding on.

"I am glad to be home," he said. "I really am."


	29. Chapter 29

The island was looming ever-closer, yet the closer to home as she got, the worse Tin-Tin began to feel. With each mile they covered, the sense of rising dread seemed to grow. It became like a thick smog that invaded her nostrils, delved into the depths of her lungs and seemed to push out every morsel of oxygen until she could barely breathe.

 _I feel like a failure_ , she thought. _I feel like I've absolutely let everyone down.  
_  
Adam picked up on her misery and, instead of his usual delight in flight, he was unsettled and keening.

"Mama, Mama," he said miserably, reaching out his pudgy hands to her, "Mama."

"I'm sorry, Adam," she said, reaching out to stroke his red face. "We'll be home soon."

"Only about another hour, Sport," Alan added.

Tin-Tin cast a sideways glance at him. He smiled; she tried her best to smile back but it didn't reach her eyes.

They said nothing for some time. Indeed, the next words in the cockpit came over the comm.

 **~oOo~**

Watching Three return was still a strange experience for John. Not until the twins had joined the crew had he experienced a switch over where he was not directly involved - or at least, it had been a rare occurence. Dad never did like taking Scott off One for long periods of time. In theory, he was supposed to have shared rotations on Five. In practice, it happened once in a blue moon.

Standing on the beach, John waited for the great red rocket to disappear as it descended into its rocky underground home. A cloud of steam and fumes enveloped it and, though he couldn't see it, he knew the craft was slipping through the Round House. John chuckled _. I'm sure Penelope is glad for the industrial-strength soundproofing!_

Beside him, Amelia had been so entranced by the landing that she hadn't uttered a single sound. Her toes were clenched in the warm sand. Her shoes dangled limply from the fingers of one hand.

"Amazing, right?" John asked.

Jaw hanging loose, the teen nodded.

"I just... I can't..."

John smiled and was about to make a comment about the sight never getting old, but she turned to him with eyes ablaze and grabbed onto his arms. The force of her grip made him jump and almost lose his footing on the sand.

"John," Amelia said in a voice full of conviction, "I want to fly one of those. That's what I'm going to do with my life. Will you help me?"

Eyes glimmering and face set with determination, her expression brought a lump to John's throat. It was like looking at himself fifteen years before.

"Of course I'll help you, Amelia," he said. "I'll help with whatever you need."

She flung herself forward then, wrapping her arms around John's waist. Without hesitation, he returned the embrace.

"Thank you, John," she said into his shoulder. "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come into my life."

For the first time in what seemed like a century, John looked at his past ordeal from a different perspective. _Maybe there is some kind of grand plan. Maybe someone up there is pulling strings or slotting jigsaw pieces together. Maybe it was all meant to happen...  
_  
When Amelia pulled away, her eyes were glistening but her smile was broad.

"This is the part where you're supposed to say _'I'm glad you came into my life too, Amelia_ ,'" she teased.

Snapping out of his thoughts, John felt his face colour. He smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his head with his hand. "I am glad. Very, _very_ glad." He slung an arm around her. "Now, let's go back to the villa. It won't be long until Alan and Tin-Tin are back. I don't know about you, but I need to clean myself up!"

Together, they walked along the shoreline towards the house, sunlight resting lightly on their shoulders.

 **~oOo~**

As the couch rose up from Three's hangar, Gordon turned around. Something sounded...odd. Not bad. Just strange. He looked to see if there was anyone nearby but the lounge was empty apart from himself – everyone was getting ready in anticipation of Alan and Tin-Tin's arrival.

Gordon jogged over to the hole in the floor where the couch had been, having disappeared with the arrival of Three. As he grew closer, the sound became louder and clearer. After a few seconds, Gordon started to grin.

 _"...I can climb the highest mountain, cross the wildest sea. I can feel St. Elmo's Fire burnin' in me Burnin' in meeeeeeeeee_!"

By the time the couch clicked into place, Matthew was in full-blown hairbrush pop star mode - and Gordon was doubled over with laughter. His sides pulled and he clutched them, spluttering in between guffaws. When he managed to straighten up and looked over, the first glance he caught of Matthew as he hopped off the couch sent him into a fit of giggles again.

"What are you laughing at, son?" Matt asked, planting his hands on his hips. "Is there somethin' funny here, Squid Kid?"

At the ridiculous nickname, Gordon shook his head as another wave of laughter overtook him.

"Stop," he wheezed. "You are ridiculous."

"True, true," Matthew said. "Now come on, dry your eyes. You don't want a red face in the photographs."

Sucking in a breath, Gordon pulled himself upright and wiped the tears from his cheeks.

"Oh, man," he said, wheezing. "You have _got_ to sing later on tonight."

"Only if you do," Matthew said. "We can do a duet."

Falling into step beside one another, the two men headed out of the lounge and made their way to the Cliff House.

Their shoulders brushed against one another - or rather, Gordon's shoulder brushed Matthew's bicep. There was a significant height difference between the two, not that Gordon minded. _I'm used to being the short guy_ , he thought.

"How has the wedding prep been going, anyway?" Matthew asked. "I've been a bit out of the loop - as usual!"

With John off-island and Alan's skill in avoiding Five, Matt had borne the brunt of space duty. To his credit, he hadn't complained once.

"It's been hectic," Gordon said.

It was true. Since Alan and Tin-Tin had left in the early hours of the morning, there had been more scurrying, hammering, painting and cooking going on than Gordon had ever seen. Virgil had even tried to dragoon him into helping with napkin folding. That had lasted all of three minutes, in which time Gordon had managed to destroy ten napkins. He had been swiftly dispatched to go count cutlery after that.

"Ah," Matthew said as they boarded the little monorail car that would take them to the Cliff House. "Weddings. You wouldn't catch me dead having one of those. It's all too much hard work!"

Gordon chuckled and leaned back against the Perspex window of the car as it started to move off. The electric vehicle was silent, save for the gentle brush of the rubber wheels on the track.

"Yeah," he said. "But I guess some people just like that kind of thing."

They fell into companionable silence for a short time until the car arrived at the end of the Cliff House spur line. The tinny speaker _pinged_ to signal that they needed to disembark.

The walk to the main door of the apartment complex was short. After the invasion incident, a significant amount of repair work had needed to be done on both the lounge and the Lynch brothers' Cliff House apartment. There was still a lot to be accomplished but they had broken the back of the work.

Matthew keyed the code in for his door and they entered.

It was still a spartan place with little in the way of personal touches. There wasn't even a coffee table – the original one having been smashed to bits when it was crushed under a couch – tossed by Gordon's own hands.

Unconsciously, he reached around to touch the nearly-healed wound on his back. It would forever be a reminder of the fateful day when it was proven that International Rescue's security wasn't as fool proof as they had hoped.

The air still smelled like fresh paint and plaster. Sunlight streamed in from the windows, bereft of curtains.

"I see you guys have been busy down here," Matthew said.

He crossed to the little kitchen island and ran his finger along the surface, then brushed the dust away.

"Yeah," Gordon said. "Since we haven't had any contractors in, the work is taking a while. But we're used to it. We did a lot of the original work for the island ourselves, especially when it came to fitting out the hangars and all our dastardly secrets."

Chuckling, Matthew smiled.

"Well, you're doing a fine job," he said.

He crossed the short distance to Gordon, his shoes tapping lightly on the brand new rosewood floor. He circled his arms around Gordon's waist and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead.

Gordon melted into the embrace and soon they were kissing. Their movements became fevered, tongues probing and fingernails digging into the soft flesh of arms, sliding up firmly-muscled backs.

In an instant, Gordon froze. Matthew pulled back and frowned.

"What's up?" he asked, his face flushed.

"Nothing," Gordon said, but even he didn't believe himself. At Matthew's raised-eyebrow look, he sighed. "It's nearly nothing, anyway."

Matthew reached out to brush one of Gordon's high cheekbones.

"Well, what's it nearly not?"

Gordon dropped his chin to his chest for a moment, before reaching up to grab the back of his t-shirt. He pulled the garment off in one swift movement – and tried not to smirk at the unadulterated lust in Matthew's eyes. But the shine was taken off the moment by what he was about to say. Slowly, Gordon turned around.

He couldn't see them but he knew they were there. Or rather, _it_ was there. An enormous scar, running from the base of his back all the way up to the first thoracic vertebrae. It was lightening with age, no longer the roaring red streak it once had been. But the lighter it got, the more it stood out in sharp relief against his tanned skin.

"Gordon," Matthew said, reaching out to plant his hands on Gordon's hips. "I've seen your back scar before – plenty of times when we've been at the pool.

Enjoying the warmth of Matthew's palms on his skin and the way the other man played with his belt loops, Gordon closed his eyes. But the joy of the moment was tarnished still.

"I know you've seen it," Gordon said. "Everyone has. It's not _seeing_ it that bothers me. It's the fact that it's _there_. Any time I think about it, all I remember is my own stupidity. I should have known better but I didn't. And the amount of _pain_ that it cause – not just me, but my family as well – it's not a nice thing to think about." Slowly, he turned to face Matthew again. "And I guess… I guess that I'm scared it'll get in the way of… _this_ ," he said, gesturing from his chest to Matt's. "Because every time I take my shirt off, I remember how stupid I am. How selfish I've been. And… I don't want to feel that way or think that way when we're together."

Nodding, Matthew slid his hands up from Gordon's waist to his arms, lightly clasping his wrists.

"I get it," he said. "I wish I had some inspiring story to tell you, something I could say like, 'Yeah, man, it'll get better. Something similar happened to me and blah, blah, _blah_.' But I don't. All I can say is that I don't think you're stupid."

Gordon shrugged and looked away. Matthew tightened his grip on his wrists.

"Tell me this, Gordon. If you were put back in that hydrofoil, knowing what you know now, knowing the _people_ that you know now, having all your life experiences – would you make the same mistake again?"

Snorting, Gordon shook his head.

" _Hell_ no."

Matthew cocked his head to one side.

"Well, you know that I think that scar really represents? I think it's proof that you've changed and grown as a person. I don't think it's something you should be ashamed of."

Throat tightening a little, Gordon gave himself to the rising emotion within him. He wrapped his arms around Matthew's neck, standing on tiptoe to reach, and threw himself into a kiss.

Years of shame were washed away in that moment. Gordon did not flinch as Matthew ran his fingers up and down his scarred spine. Their mouths were hungry, their fingers grasping and clenching, kneading away knots of tension and despair.

And what happened next?

It was simple: unadulterated joy.


	30. Chapter 30

" _Tracy Two from Tracy Island. Alan, is that you I see on my radar?_ "

Deftly, Alan reached across to engage the comm. receiver and smiled.

"Yeah, Dad, it's us," he said. "ETA to the island approximately five minutes."

He tried to sound as chipper as possible, as if they day's events hadn't meant anything. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. There was a burning ball of shame in the pit of his stomach. He felt like a failure. _What will the guys say?_ he thought. _They're always teasing me. And now this! They'll have a field day…_

" _Alright, son_ ," Jeff said. " _We'll be waiting for you._ "

"As long as you're waiting with a stiff drink, I'll be happy," Alan joked.

Jeff chuckled.

" _Base out._ "

Alan looked over his shoulder at Tin-Tin, expecting a scathing reply to his remark. Instead, he got not reply, for his fiancée was fast asleep. Adam, beside her in his special infant seat, had conked out, too. _I know how you feel_ , Alan thought as he returned his gaze to the cockpit windows. _All I want is to sleep after this mess of a day. I hope they haven't planned a party for Lyra's birthday because I just don't have the energy…_

Within a few minutes, he began his descent onto the island. When the wheels hit the runway, the bump jostled Tin-Tin and Adam awake.

"We're home already?" Tin-Tin asked around a yawn.

"Yes, Tin, we're home," Alan said. "It's time to put all this wedding business behind us and just relax."

"I'll be glad to crawl into bed," Tin-Tin said. "I think sleep is about all I'm capable of at the moment."

Little did they know. Oh, little did they know…

 **~oOo~**

"You do realise that's going to get destroyed within about five minutes of her wearing it, right?"

John smoothed down the front of Lyra's party dress and shrugged.

"I know, Eli," he said, tugging a crease out of the tulle layer that hung over the royal blue satin. "But Grandma picked it out and, you have to admit, she looks great in it."

John shuffled back on his knees to admire his handiwork. Lyra was resplendent in the party dress. It was a simple cut but was embellished by silver star embroidery, and the tulle had a silvery sheen. A navy satin belt was tied around the waist and her wispy blonde hair was offset by a royal blue bow.

The girl looked down at herself, then turned her bright blue eyes to her father.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because Auntie Tin-Tin and Uncle Alan are getting married," John said, reaching out to pick her up. "And, of course, because it's your birthday."

"Birthday!"

Grinning, John leaned down to kiss her forehead. Then he turned around and what he saw made his breath hitch.

Elijah had disappeared to change into his suit as John was dressing Lyra. Now, he leaned against the doorjamb into the bathroom off John's room – and he looked like a transformed man.

Gone was the untidy scratch of beard on his chin. Instead, he was clean-shaven and smooth-skinned. His sometimes unruly ginger locks had been tamed, still curly but styled and shining. And of course, there was the suit. John grinned.

It was the first time he had ever seen Elijah in a suit – a proper one, not a cheap one that had made a transpacific journey to make an appearance in a court room. This suit was new and steel grey. The jacket was single breasted with triple buttons at the cuffs and underneath was a tailored waistcoat. The matching trousers were crisp, ironed within an inch of perfection. In the top pocket of the jacket was a royal blue handkerchief, the same colour as Lyra's dress.

"Wow," John said. "You look…amazing."

Elijah tried to look smug but instead managed to look adorably bashful.

"Thanks," he said. "Your gran asked me for my measurements and sorted this while we were away. It fits pretty perfectly. I don't think I've ever owned a suit this nice. It's not your average off-the-rack stuff."

John reached out to finger the soft satin handkerchief. Lyra did the same.

"I like this touch," he said.

Elijah smiled and stepped aside, reaching out for Lyra.

"Well," he said as he took the child in his arms, "that's not the last way we'll all match. Have a look and see what your gran sorted for you."

Curious, John did as he was told and stepped forward. There, hanging in the bathroom from a hook on the wall, was another brand new suit. Smiling but with a crease of confusion between his brows, he stepped forward. There was a note pinned to the lapel, written in his grandmother's handwriting.

 _Dear John,_

 _I took the liberty of buying you a suit. I know you have a few others but I thought something brand spanking new might be a nice change._

 _Lots of things are different for you now, but not all changes are bad. And ultimately, the best things stay the same. I'll always be here for you, kiddo. We all will._

 _So, dear, I hope you don't mind this old woman's intrusion. I think you'll look dashing in it (when have you not looked dashing in a suit?) and I can't wait to see your little family together. You won't be able to stop me getting photographs!_

 _Love always,_

 _Grandma_

 _P.S.: Don't tell your brothers! I told them they had to make do with that they had hanging in their closets!_

"Oh, Grandma," John said, fingering the sleeve of the grey suit jacket. "You are one in a million."

 **~oOo~**

" _Boys, this is your father_."

The voice blasted through Gordon's watch so loudly he felt his eardrums would pop. Groaning, he jammed a pillow over his head.

 _Wait, a pillow?_

" _Your brother and Tin-Tin will be here within five minutes,_ " Jeff continued. " _Make sure you get your butts down to the garden within that time so they don't see you. We can't afford to give the game away now after all we've done to keep this thing a secret._ "

Sitting bolt upright, Gordon took in his bearings. He was in bed, but not his bed. Someone else's. And there was someone else there, too. And then it came flooding back – along with the flush of pleasure that crept across his cheeks.

The lump in the bed shifted and pulled the duvet down. Matthew winced against the light and groaned.

"Why is it so bright?" he moaned.

Gordon plucked his watch from Matthew's bedside table.

"Because it's not even the evening yet," he said.

Then his father's words came back to him. _Five minutes…_

"Oh crap!" he said, leaping from the bed. "That doesn't leave much time to get ready."

"Ready for what?" Matthew asked.

Gordon glared at him for a beat. Then.

"Oh shit!" Matthew said, flinging the covers from himself. "The wedding!"

"Yes, the wedding," Gordon said, frantically plucking up discarded piece of clothing – and nearly braining himself on a dresser in pursuit of a sock. "I need to get back to the villa, showered and changed in five minutes!"

"Well, you may get going!" Matthew said, shooing him towards the door. "Have you seen how slowly that monorail goes? You might be better running!"

"Either way, I'm gone!" Gordon said as he shoved his foot into his sneaker. "I'll see you down there."

He fled from the bedroom to the living area, then stopped dead and turned on his heel. Running back into the bedroom, he leapt across the bed to seize Matthew in a kiss.

"I promise I don't normally run away after," he said, "but these circumstances are exceptional!"

Matthew gently nipped Gordon's bottom lip before planting his hands on the other man's bare torso and propelling him backwards.

"I get it," he said. "Now go! You've probably only got about three minutes now!"

"Gone!"

 **~oOo~**

By the time Tracy Two's wheels set down on the tarmac, nearly everyone had assembled in the garden. Once more, it was bedecked in bunting and beautiful flowers. This time, though, it had all been done in-house. Scott let out a low whistle between his teeth and stepped forward to clap Virgil on the shoulder.

"Brother, you are truly talented," he said.

"I know, I know," Virgil said.

They shared a good-natured chuckle and Virgil went to sit at the electric piano he had set up near the wedding arch. Beside it stood Scott's guitar, nestled in an old matt black stand.

Scott took a deep breath as butterflies fluttered in his stomach. _Stop it, Tracy,_ he chided himself. _You've nearly been shot down, blown up, kidnapped, held hostage – and so much more – and yet you're nervous about playing a little guitar? Geez!_

Of course, it wasn't quite as simple as that. It wasn't just playing a little guitar. It was playing at his brother's _wedding_ – alongside someone with the talent of a concert pianist! _I don't know how my playing is going to stand up against Virgil's_ , he thought. _I just hope I don't make any huge mistakes!_

He had been practicing for weeks and, deep down, he knew everything was going to be fine. _I just don't want to be the one who messed everything up_ , he thought.

To take his mind off his nerves, Scott turned and made a bee-line for the one person in the world who could distract him: Lyra.

When she saw him coming, her grin was huge.

"Unca Sot! Unca Sot!"

She trotted towards him, looking absolutely adorable in her blue dress with matching sparkly shoes.

"Hey, it's the birthday girl!" Scott said as he lifted her, swinging her around in a circle. "How's my little fighter pilot, eh?"

"Good!" she said, clapping her hands together with glee.

 _I cannot get over how intelligent this kid is,_ Scott thought. _A genius like her daddy!_

Speaking of John, Scott glanced across to see him lingering at the entrance to the garden. Both he and Elijah had their heads bent as they examined _something_ – likely a bug of some description. Scott shifted Lyra in his arms, pulled the floaty layer of her dress down, and headed for the pair.

"What are you two looking at?" he asked.

John turned and opened his mouth but Scott raised a hand. His brother had his 'science' face on and in truth, Scott didn't have the energy for a lesson in entomology.

"Never mind," he said. Then he grinned. "I hope you've been practicing your drumming."

John rolled his eyes and tucked one thumb into a belt loop.

"Yeah, I trailed out all of Penny's pots and pans and rocked out in her kitchen."

"That I would pay to see," Scott said. "But seriously, are you going to help out later?"

With a sigh, John turned to Elijah. If he was looking for sympathy, he received none. He grunted.

"Fine," he said. "But don't blame me if it's awful. I haven't picked up my drumsticks in about ten years."

"At least you're not playing at the ceremony!" Scott said. "It doesn't matter if you screw up later when the pressure's off and no one really cares. I have to play alongside the maestro himself when Tin-Tin is coming up the 'aisle.' I can't afford to mess that up."

John clapped a hand on Scott's shoulder – but the latter received no comfort from it, accompanied as it was by a sardonic smile.

"Don't worry, Scott," John said. "At least if you screw up, we'll have something new to talk about! There are only so many times I can listen to the 'Alan-nearly-blows-up-his-college' story before I explode."

He was about to add another example when he heard a noise in the distance. It sounded like…

"Gordon?"

The little group turned around just in time to see Gordon rush past, face flushed as if he'd just finished a marathon.

"Don't panic!" he said around pants. "I'm here! All is well."

"No one was panicking," Virgil said. "In fact, I'm not sure I noticed you weren't here."

The earned him a smack across the head with the rolled up paper Gordon was carrying.

"Rude," Virgil said, reaching up to smooth his hair. "Why are you in such a rush, anyway? You've had all day to get ready."

"Something came up," Gordon said, gulping to regain his composure.

Scott narrowed his eyes as a fresh blush passed over his brother's face. _Oh,_ he thought. _That explains a lot…_

"Anyway," Gordon continued, planting himself underneath the wedding arch and dropping the paper to the floor, "I'm here now. I think I heard Alan and Tin-Tin's voices as I was fleeing the lounge. Dad and Grandma and Kyrano are all up there, ready for the next step. Everyone else is here, right?"

He glanced around. So did Scott. Nearly everyone had assembled. _Brains, Virg, Johnny, Gords, Penny, Parker, Georgie, Amelia, Elijah… Where's Matthew?_

He opened his mouth to ask but just as he did, the man came strolling into the Garden with his hands in the pockets of his sage green suit.

"Alright, lads?" he asked.

Looking from Matthew to Gordon and back again, Scott shook his head. Elijah, who seemed to have picked up on the vibe Scott was sensing, folded his arms.

"You dirty wee skitter," he said.

Matthew spread his hands out and tried to look innocent.

"What?" he asked. "I am a pure and sensitive child."

"Pure and sensitive my arse," Elijah said.

"Well, that's a detail you can keep to yourself," Matthew said. "Your own butt is your own business. Now, when does this show get on the road?"

He strode forward, hands in his pockets again. Scott blinked a few times, feeling a little like he had just been hit by a truck.

Then his father's voice intruded again, emanating from many watches.

" _They're here,_ " he said. " _Everyone, Operation: Secret Wedding is officially go!_ "


	31. Chapter 31

Their walk to the villa had been slow, as Adam has resisted all attempts to be carried. By the time they made it to the lounge, Tin-Tin was definitely ready for bed. _Honestly_ , she thought. _I just want to curl up and forget this day ever happened._

When they crossed the threshold into the living area, she stilled. Something wasn't right. Something was _different_.

"Alan?" she asked.

"Yeah, Tin-Tin?" he answered.

"Was that string of bunting always there?"

Alan turned to where she was pointing. His brow furrowed.

"No. I've never seen it before. And look, there are flowers all over the place. What goes on here?"

A new voice intruded.

"What goes on," Jeff said, stepping out from the shadows, "is that you two are getting married. Right here, right now."

Tin-Tin's jaw hit the floor. Jeff was dressed to the nines in a gorgeous black suit with silver buttons, complete with a matching cravat. Then her own father fell into step beside him and Tin-Tin could have wept.

He was wearing a traditional _baju melayu_ in a beautiful yellow silk with elaborate brocade work. He even had a matching _tanjak_ on his head. The last time she had seen her father so-dressed was… In fact, she had never seen it in the flesh. She had only seen it in photographs – specifically, her father and mother's wedding photographs.

"Father, what is this?" Tin-Tin asked, squeezing Adam's hand.

"My daughter," Kyrano said. "Mr Tracy and all the family have decided to try to give you the wedding that you desire, right here on the island – our home. That is, if you so choose to have it."

Tin-Tin spun around, releasing Adam's hand. The little boy toddled over to his grandfathers, fascinated by Kyrano's outfit.

Alan's jaw was still hanging slack.

"Dad," he said. "What?"

Jeff chuckled.

"Yes, son," he said. "Everything has been arranged – all in house, this time. And if the two of you want it, we're ready."

Alan turned to Tin-Tin and took her hands. When their fingers touched, it was as if all the tension and worries of the day had melted away. _I can't believe this,_ he thought. _I can't believe they would do all of this for us._

"Well, Tin?" he asked. "What do you say?"

There were tears gleaming in her eyes and she closed them for a moment. As the moment drew longer, Alan's throat tightened.

"Tin-Tin?"

She looked up. And when she did, she was grinning.

"Yes!" she said. "Yes, let's do it now. Here, with all of our family." She turned to Jeff and her father. "Thank you so much!"

Jeff chuckled anew and Kyrano gave his daughter a wide grin.

"I am glad to hear that," he said. "And you are very welcome. Now, Mrs Tracy is waiting for you in your bedroom. There is something she wants to show you."

"And as for you, Alan," Jeff said, "you'll find your grandmother has everything laid out for you in my room. Be quick about it. I want you down in the garden in ten minutes."

Alan gave his father a brief salute and grinned.

"F.A.B.!" he said.

Giving Tin-Tin one quick squeeze, he disappeared off to get changed. Tin-Tin walked forward to embrace her father, then stood on her tiptoes to press a gentle kiss onto Jeff's cheek.

"Go one," Jeff said. "Go and see what Mother has for you. Kyrano will look after Adam."

"Datuk! Datuk!" the little boy said.

As soon as her son was ensconced in her father's arms, Tin-Tin turned and ran to her bedroom. Her heart was pounding, her breath catching in her throat. _It must be a dress_ , she thought. _Maybe she repaired my original one…_

When she flung open the door to her room, her breath was completely taken away.

Hanging from one of the wardrobe doors was a garment she had only seen before in pictures. Tin-Tin brought her hands up to her mouth as tears burned at the edges of her eyes.

"Oh, my…" she whispered.

All ivory silk and intricate bead and embroidery work, her mother's wedding down sparkled in the sunlight. Slowly, Tin-Tin moved forward towards it. Only then did she notice Grandma Tracy standing beside it.

"Now, Tin-Tin," the woman said. "I don't know if this is what you want. But your father mentioned that he had your mother's wedding gown in storage and I just had to get a look at it. And you know what? It is stunning. I've made a few modifications here and there, tried to fit it more to your size. But I've left it largely intact. If you want to wear it, it's ready for you. If not, I can press the dress in your suitcase and –"

Grandma's speech was cut off as Tin-Tin threw herself into the other woman's arms.

"Oh, Grandma!" she said. "It is perfect! I can't believe you would do to all this trouble for me!"

Grandma Tracy rubbed circles on Tin-Tin's back and sniffed back a few tears.

"Of course I would," she said. "We all would!"

She pulled away, holding Tin-Tin at arm's length.

"Now, I know we've been here before, but I just want to say again – Tin-Tin, I am so happy for you. I'm so glad that you've become a part of our family. And now, it'll be official!"

"I'm so glad, too," Tin-Tin said, embracing the older woman once more. "So very, very glad."

Grandma Tracy pulled back and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief she had fished out of sleeve.

"Now, come on. Let's get you into this gown."

It only took fifteen minutes for Tin-Tin to transform herself from weary traveller to beautiful bride. Make up done, just as she was about to start doing her hair, she stopped.

Standing up from her vanity table, she walked towards the bed. The train of her dress flowed out behind her like a pearlescent pool. She reached out to pick up the last piece of the dress, a piece she had not considered wearing before now.

Grandma Tracy coughed.

"I wasn't sure if you'd want to wear the hijab or not," she said. "I know you don't usually. But I took it out anyway. It's up to you, dear."

Tin-Tin rubbed her thumbs along the silky ivory material and then fingered the intricate and lacy veil that flowed in waves over her wrists. Then she turned to Grandma Tracy and nodded.

"I will wear it," she said. "I might not normally, but mother did and this is her dress. It's only right that I do so, too."

Nodding, Grandma Tracy reached out to take it from her and guided Tin-Tin back to the vanity.

"Well, in that case, let's get it on. And then you'll be ready to greet your husband to be!"

 **~oOo~**

When Alan strode through the garden, suited and booted and looking like a million dollars, his brothers and the others who were assembled broke out into a raucous cheer. With the exception of Penelope, of course, who instead rose and gave him a demure smile.

"Alan, darling, you look wonderful," she said.

He leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you, Lady Penelope," he said. "I feel wonderful. I can't believe you guys have done this for us!"

"Of course we have, son," Jeff said.

He stepped forward, urging Adam to step forward. When he saw his son, Alan didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Adam was dressed in a suit identical to his father's, right down to the colour of the material and the bow tie. Alan reached down to pluck his son up and as soon as he did, he heard the familiar click of a digital SLR camera.

He turned to see Georgie holding the camera, grinning.

"I'm your official photographer," she said. "Don't worry. I have a qualification – a high school one, but still. It's better than nothing!"

Shaking his head, Alan turned to look at the assembled members of his family one by one. He couldn't stop himself from smiling ear to ear.

"I just really can't believe this," he said. "It's crazy!"

"We live for crazy," Gordon said. "Now come on, you need look over these vows again. It's been a while since you last saw them!"

 **~oOo~**

The look on her father's face made everything worth it. It erased every bad memory of the day.

"Oh, my," Kyrano said as he stepped forward to take her hand. "I simply cannot believe it. You look identical to your mother."

His eyes glistened as he spoke. Tin-Tin reached out to pull him into a hug.

"Father," she said. "I can't believe you kept her gown all this time."

"What else could I do?" Kyrano asked. "I could not bear to part with it. And now, I see the true reason why. Your mother must have seen this all along."

Stepping back, Tin-Tin held out her arm. Kyrano looped it through his. Sniffling from behind them, Grandma Tracy dabbed her eyes again.

"Oh, Lord," she said. "Here I go!"

Tin-Tin chuckled, though she knew her own tears were barely at bay.

"I'll go on ahead and give them the signal to get ready," Grandma said. "Wait about two minutes, then start walking!"

The woman disappeared towards the garden. And as she waited, those two minutes were both the longest and shortest of Tin-Tin's life.

 **~oOo~**

From her position at the entrance to the garden, Amelia turned on her heel and grinned.

"She's coming!"

And at that, the whole garden burst into light and music. Together, Virgil and Scott started to play. The strains of Pachelbel's _Canon_ filled the air and everyone turned to await the arrival of the bride and her father. All save Alan, of course.

John stepped aside as Amelia slid into the row beside him. And when he looked back at the entrance of the garden, his heart sang.

Tin-Tin looked phenomenal. In that moment, he saw her at every stage of her life since they had met. He saw her as the teenager, asking him endless questions about astronomy and physics and _anything_ to get his attention. He saw her as the successful engineering student in her own right. He saw her blushing under the gaze of Alan for the first time.

What he saw was perfection incarnate and it brought tears to his eyes.

As she passed, she reached out to grasp his hand as he wiped at his cheek. The grin she gave him was out of this world, so full of joy it lit up her whole face.

When she walked on, towards her waiting fiancée and her future, Elijah leaned in and pressed his head against John's. The two men entangled their hands together. Amelia cast them a knowing look but said nothing.

When Tin-Tin reached the wedding arch, so carefully constructed by Virgil, Alan turned to her and his eyes sparkled. Scott and Virgil continued to play, starting to reduce their tone and pace so slightly. Kyrano took Alan's hand and placed Tin-Tin's in it.

"Take care of my daughter," he said.

"I will, Kyrano," Alan said, his voice thick with emotion. "There's nothing I want to do more in this world."

 _That's my bro_ , John thought. _Finally all growed up!_

As Scott and Virgil brought the _Canon_ to a conclusion, the gathered family broke out into applause. Georgie was still flitting about, snapping pictures.

When the applause tapered off, Gordon stepped forward and grinned.

"Well, I don't know about anyone else," he began, "but I am experiencing some extreme déjà vu today!"

There was a ripple of laughter through the small audience – even louder than the one he had received the first time around.

"Like I said the last time," Gordon continued, "I am honoured that these two wonderful people have allowed me to have a special role in their special day. I still can't say that I have any good advice on marriage – or even on love, for that matter." There was another wave of laughter. John leaned forward and gave Matthew a knowing look. The Irishman's cheeks coloured slightly.

"But like I said before," Gordon continued, "they need only look to the marriages in our families, as short lived as they may have been. From Kyrano and his late wife Puteri, from Grandpa Grant and Grandma Katherine and, last but not least, our own parents' marriage, the unstoppable duo of Jeff and Lucille Tracy – it's still true that there are plenty of role models to choose from."

Gordon paused for breath and looked at Tin-Tin, then Alan. Both were grinning.

"Last time I talked about love, marriage and the baby carriage, which of course, these two did in their own order. Alan never was one to follow instructions. You know, like that time when he shattered every window at Colorado University."

There was a collective groan from the crowd at the mention of _that_ incident again. Alan shook his head and turned to them.

"I'm never going to live that down, am I?" he asked.

"Never," Jeff said firmly.

That only elicited another round of laughter. Gordon shook his head.

"There are so many stories that I could tell you about our Al, here," he said. "But I won't. In fact, I'm going to stop talking completely for a minute and invite Dad to come up and give a short reading."

John looked sideways at Elijah, who shrugged. _I didn't know Dad was doing a reading,_ John thought.

Jeff rose and stood just to the side of the wedding arch. He pulled a piece of paper from the inside of his jacket and cleared his throat.

"This is a reading that Lucy and I had at our wedding, nearly forty years ago. It's from _Captain Corelli's Mandolin_ – which some of you boys might know, if you ever picked up a book."

There was a ripple of laughter. Then Jeff cleared his throat again and began to read.

"Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your root was so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is.

"Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being in love, which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.

Those that truly love have roots that grow towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms have fallen from their branches, they find that they are one tree and not two."

As the meaning of the words washed over him, John reached out and clasped Elijah's hand. Then there was a round of applause and, before he could sit down, Jeff found himself pulled into a hug by his youngest son.

"Thanks, Dad," he said.

"You're welcome, son."

Gordon stepped forward again and clasped his hands in front of himself.

"Beautiful, Dad. Thank you. I think it's important to remember all of those who aren't here today as well as those who are. Let's take a moment to spare a thought for Lucy and Grant Tracy, for Puteri Kyrano – and all our other loved ones who can't be with us."

There was a moment of exquisite silence in the garden, broken only by the rustling of the leaves.

"And now," Gordon said after a short moment, "let's think about who is here, the wonderful patchwork of rogues and scoundrels that make up this happy gathering. I know that I can speak for all of us when I say to you, Alan and Tin-Tin, that we are honoured to be here with you today."

A chorus of 'here-heres' sounded. Gordon nodded.

"We're all privileged to be able to watch these two beautiful people exchange their vows and rings." He leaned to the side and pinned Scott with a look. "You do have the rings, right?"

Scott patted his breast pocket and stood up.

"Both are present and correct," he said.

Gordon beckoned him forward, then turned his attention to Alan and Tin-Tin again.

"Okay. Alan, repeat after me."

And so he did, bit by bit, until the vows had been completed:

" _Today, tomorrow and for all the rest of my days, I promise to stand beside you, to dance with you in times of joy, to lift you up in times of sadness, to rejoice with you in times of health, to comfort you in times of illness. I promise to turn to you for solace, for encouragement, and for inspiration. I promise to be faithful and true to you, I promise to shower you with love and affection every joyous and blessed day, for the rest of our lives._ "

With tears in her eyes, Tin-Tin repeated the same. Rings were exchanged. Finally, they were married.

Not yet finished, Gordon had one last thing to say.

 _"_ Well guys, you finally did it! And, to set you off on the right path, here's another little piece that Dad introduced me to from his and Mom's wedding. It's an Apache blessing. ' _Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be shelter for the other. Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth to the other. Now there will be no loneliness, for each of you will be companion to the other. Now you are two persons, but there is only one life before you. May beauty surround you both in the journey ahead and through all the years, May happiness be your companion and your days together be good and long upon the earth.'_ "

Alan and Tin-Tin leaned in to one another and pressed their foreheads together. John could just about make out what they were whispering to one another: 'I love you _._ '

"Ladies and gentlemen," Gordon said with the grandness of a ringmaster, "it is my absolute pleasure to introduce to you for the first time as husband and wife, Mr and Mrs Tracy!"

The only description for the applause that followed was explosive. The cheering was raucous. And something in the air was cleared away. The disaster of their first attempt was blown away on the winds, disappearing off across the horizon.

John pushed his glasses up to wipe his eyes and chuckled as Elijah pressed a kiss to his temple. When he replaced his glasses again, John saw Virgil and Scott slip back towards their instruments.

And then, to his ultimate surprise, he heard Virgil pick out the first few notes of a Beatles classic. _Oh, wow. Perfect!_

Then Virgil began to sing.

" _There's nothing you can do that can't be done. Nothing you can sing that can't be sung. Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game. It's easy_."

Then Scott joined in – not as strong a singer as his brother, but not the worst.

" _Nothing you can make that can't be made. No one you can save that can't be saved. Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time. It's easy._ "

Then Virgil took a hand from the piano to gesture at the others.

"Alright, everyone together now!"

There was nothing that could have stopped John from joining in.

" _All you need is love. All you need it love. All you need is love, love. Love is all you need_."

And indeed, after all, it was all any of them needed.


	32. Chapter 32

The island had never seen anything like the wedding. Food was piled in mountains, drink was free-flowing (and mostly non-alcoholic), and as the twins would say, the craic was ninety.

After the ceremony, the party had adjourned to the poolside, where Braman had expertly arranged the banquet - all down to Grandma's careful planning and Brains' diligent programming. All was exactly as it should have been – and every face wore a smile.

As the sky started to slip from bright blue to a pale wash, with pink and orange encroaching from below the horizon, there was a flurry of movement. Plates were set aside, chairs were turned, and the Tracy brothers took to the makeshift stage - together, sans the groom, for the first time in a decade.

After a few moments of shuffling and moving instruments around, Gordon did some last minute tuning of his guitar. He cast a glance back at John, who had his eyes closed and was running through rhythms in his head, the drumsticks ghosting over the top of the drum kit. It was at least fifteen years old and hadn't been used in at least ten.

"Are you ready for the big comeback tour?" Gordon asked, tossing his brother a wink.

John opened his eyes and gave Gordon a look that was part-venomous and part-perplexed.

"Not really," he said. "I can't believe we're doing this. I hated being the novelty act at all the family reunions."

Gordon nodded, grinning. It was true. Jeff and Lucy's five boys had always been dragged out to play together amongst the throng of second-cousins and other distant relations of their father's. Having no cousins themselves, they were the youngest - and subsequently, the object of much affection. And when you added musicality to the mix? The gaggle of grey-hairs and _who's-that-nows_ had fallen head over heels for them.

Having abandoned the piano in favour of his priceless 100th anniversary Fender Coronado guitar – candy apple red, in true 1960s style – Virgil checked his connection to a nearby amp and smiled.

"We need a new name," he said. "There are only four of us, now."

Gordon strummed a D chord, then a C, and gave his brother a wink.

"Never fear, brother-mine," he said. "I've got it covered."

He looked out at the tiny audience, then stepped forward to the microphone. It wasn't _strictly_ necessary, but it gave the performance a more professional appeal. _And we need all the help we can get!_ Gordon thought. But then, he returned his mind to the business at hand. He cleared his throat.

"Alright, ladies, gentlemen - and Alan," he said.

Everyone chuckled apart from his younger brother, who simply rolled his eyes. Gordon shrugged and then beckoned for Matthew to come up to the stage. Scott cast him a look of narrow-eyed confusion.

Matthew stepped up to the mike and tapped it.

"Hello? Can you hear me?"

"Unfortunately," Elijah said, deadpan.

Matthew shook his head and continued.

"Lads and ladies. May I present to you, for the first time in ten years - and missing twenty percent of the group - for one night only, The FAB Four!"

There were cheers and groans in equal measure, accompanied by a signature _ba-dum CHISH_ from John on the drums to punctuate the joke. Scott shot Gordon a withering look as Matthew hopped off the stage to reclaim his seat.

"Really, Gordon?" Scott asked. " _That's_ what you came up with?"

"Well, we couldn't be The Fabulous Five anymore, could we?" Gordon asked. "Anyway, let's get this party started." He turned to give Tin-Tin a wink. "We have an audience to please."

And so the show began.

 **~oOo~**

Tin-Tin's cheeks were aching from all the smiling, but it was worth it. Everything had been _perfect_. Even, she thought with a chuckle, The FAB Four's at first _rusty_ attempts at playing together. By the time they got through their second song, they were a little better. By the time they finished the third, they were back on par.

When the boys were tuning up for their fourth number, Tin-Tin reached across and took Alan's hand, giving it a squeeze.

"I love you, Mr Tracy," she said.

Her husband leaned across to give her a peck on the lips. He smelled of cologne with a tint of beer.

"And I love you too, Mrs Tracy."

"Mrs Tracy," Tin-Tin repeated, shaking her head. "I can't believe it. I can't believe we actually did it."

"Me neither," Alan said, "but I'm so glad we did."

From across the round table at which the guests all sat, Grandma Tracy leaned across and tipped the newly married couple a wink.

"It'll take a while to get used to the new name," she said. "I know I was signing myself in my maiden name for at least six months before I finally got the new name right."

Beside her, Jeff chuckled.

"Lucy was much the same," he said. "She kept signing everything as Lucille O'Hara for months after we were married."

Giving a soft giggle, Tin-Tin squeezed Alan's hand again.

"It will be very strange," she said. "My initials are now TTT!"

"Sure, we'll just call you Triple T," Matthew said, then sipped his drink. "Or maybe even… Triple _Threat_."

"Now that's a nickname I could get used to!" Tin-Tin said. "Triple Threat. I like it!"

There was a round of laughter at the table, which was cut off by Virgil stepping up to the microphone.

"Well, for this next number, I'd like to take the opportunity to dedicate the song to one particular brother because, if he's nothing else, he's definitely _good_."

Glancing at Alan, Tin-Tin's brow furrowed.

"What does he mean? And _who_ does he mean?"

"I don't know," Alan said.

Within the first few seconds, though, Tin-Tin understood perfectly and grinned. _Oh, yes,_ she thought. _Good indeed!_

Virgil carried the tune soulfully and his guitar playing became more impassioned with each note.

" _Deep down in Louisiana, close to New Orleans,_

 _Way back up in the woods among the evergreens,_

 _There stood a log cabin made of earth and wood,_

 _Where lived a country boy named Johnny B. Goode,_

 _Who never ever learned to read or write so well,_

 _But he could play the guitar like ringing a bell._ "

By the time they got to the chorus, everyone was clapping and most were on their feet.

" _Go, go_

 _Go Johnny go, go,_

 _Go Johnny go, go,_

 _Go Johnny go, go,_

 _Go Johnny go, go,_

 _Johnny be good._ "

Alan reached out to pull Tin-Tin to her feet and swirled her around, dress swirling and sparkling in the tiki torches Braman had been diligently lighting. Moonlight danced on the surface of the pool and the air was filled with the sounds of laughter and love.

In that moment, Tin-Tin could not have been happier. Everything was perfect. Just perfect.

 **~oOo~**

Gordon wiped the sweat from his brow and enjoyed the electric adrenaline surging through his veins. The crowd were up and dancing, and that was only ever a good thing.

They had gone from _Johnny B. Goode_ to _Don't Stop Believin'_ to _I'll Be There For You_ – and even their father had been up and dancing for that one. Then they had done some of the Cass Carnaby Five's earlier hits.

And the Cass Carnaby Five had given him an idea. After a quick conversation with his brothers, Gordon returned to the microphone with a trick up his sleeve.

"Thank you so much," Gordon said, his breath still a little strained. "I hope you're all having a good time!" There was a cheer from the small crowd and he grinned. "You'll understand if we need to slow things down a little," he continued. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Scott and Virgil here are over thirty and can't keep up with us young-uns."

"Hey!" Scott said – the words were almost a growl.

Gordon shrugged and stuck his tongue out, then returned to the microphone.

"Now, in an unprecedented – and totally unplanned – comeback, I'd like to welcome to the stage none of than the one, the _only_ , Wanda Lamour."

The crowd broke out into raucous applause – at least, nearly all of the crowd.

Penelope threw Gordon a withering glare but, judging by the almost imperceptible twitch of the side of her mouth, in reality she coveted the opportunity to get up and sing. _Which is why she made the Wanda Lamour cover in the first place!_ he thought.

"Alright, alright," she said, raising her hands for quiet. "I shall oblige, since this is a most auspicious occasion."

Parker sprang to his feet and shuffled around to help Penelope mount the stage in her stunning peacock blue and green gown. Gordon bowed a little as he backed away from the microphone, giving Penny a wink.

"I would like to sing a little song that always reminds me of Tin-Tin," she said. "She was with me when I sang this in public for the first time. It's perhaps not the most appropriate of wedding songs, but it shall have to do."

She turned to the brothers, who nodded in unison. Within a few moments, they had started to play. Taking a deep breath, Penelope began to sing.

" _When you play_

 _That dangerous game,_

 _You must learn to break every rule_

 _Learn to watch every glance_

 _And they say_

 _That dangerous game,_

 _Is a game that's played by a fool_

 _When he's taking a chance._

 _So remember the dice may be loaded,_

 _They may deal from the bottom of the pack,_

 _And that ace that you hold up your sleeve_

 _May only be a ten or a jack_

 _So beware,_

 _It may be a frame_

 _You must gamble hard when you play_

 _That dangerous game._

 _That dangerous game…_ "

 **~oOo~**

Penelope set the precedent. After her rendition of _Dangerous Game_ , there was a rash of karaoke – some of it brilliant (their father's rendition of _Thank God I'm a Country Boy_ being one of the best) and some of it hilarious (Matthew's attempt at _Yes Sir, I Can Boogie_ took the cake on that front). The FAB Four hadn't known all the tunes but did their best to play along. Not for the first time, John was glad his instrument was the drums. _I can find my way through anything!_ he thought. _Even after a break of ten years_.

He set down his sticks, however, when he was beckoned down by his grandmother's wizened finger. Jumping from the small stage, he jogged to her and grinned.

"Time?" he asked.

"I think so," she said.

John craned his beck to see what she was pulling out from underneath one of the buffet tables. Grandma Tracy swatted him back and shook her head.

"You're as bad as a kid!" she said.

"I can't help it," John said. "It's not every day your daughter turns one."

"True," Grandma said. She set a large box on the table and lifted the lid. "Now, how's this for a birthday cake?"

When he saw it, John couldn't even speak. His chest tightened as his mouth stretched in a wide smile. _That is amazing!_

Little Lyra's first birthday cake was enormous – round and covered in a deep blue icing – and was adorned with a surprisingly accurate representation of the constellation after which she was named.

"Kyrano spent hours working on this," Grandma Tracy said. "Every single one of those little stars was piped by hand."

Indeed, the backdrop of the cake wasn't just plain blue. It was covered in pearlescent dots of varying sizes, giving the impression of a starry night behind the constellation.

"That's just… _Wow_ ," John said. "I can't believe how much effort he's put into this."

"Be sure to thank him," Grandma said. She produced a candle in the shape of a '1' and placed it near the top, where Lyra's name had been piped in white. "Now, let's show this little lady how much we love her."

John lifted the cake with utmost care and Grandma lit the candle. She gave a little nod to Gordon, who was waiting expectantly. In turn, he nodded at Scott and Virgil. Then, the three began to play.

Recognising the tune, everyone burst into song. Jeff scooped Lyra into his arms and pointed in the direction of her father as together, Grandma and John walked the cake towards her.

" _Happy birthday to you,_

 _Happy birthday to you,_

 _Happy birthday dear Lyra,_

 _Happy birthday to you!_ "

As he sang, John's mind flickered back to the moment that he had scooped the tiny bundle into his arms, still slimy from birth and attached to her umbilical cord. He thought of how warm she felt, how she curled into him. He thought of the unstoppable urge he had experienced to protect her at all costs, no matter what.

 _I thought we would both die that day. I never expected we would get to where we are now…_

But there they were, together after a year. Lyra was healthy. John was healing. And, most importantly of all, their entire family was gathered to celebrate the day.

Jeff grinned as he held his granddaughter out, reluctant to hand her over but obliging all the same.

Grandma took the cake as John gathered his daughter into his arms, giving her a kiss on the forehead.

"Alright, Lyra," he said. "Are you ready to blow out the candles? Don't forget to make a wish!" John glanced up at Jeff and grinned. "Maybe Grandpa can help, too."

Jeff had never moved faster in his life than when he brought his head down to join in.

"Alright," he said, ever the commander. "On the count of three. One, two, THREE!"

Together, three generations of the Tracy family blew out the single candle on the cake to the sounds of cheers and a round of wild applause. Lyra giggled uncontrollably and John couldn't stop himself from grinning like a madman.

"That's my girl," he whispered into her fine blonde hair. "That's my girl."

Within seconds of the candle being blown out, presents had been produced from all directions. Lyra had the most wonderful time ripping off wrapping paper to reveal the treasures underneath. There was one present, though, that went into John's hands, rather than hers.

When Jeff presented his son with an envelope, John raised an eyebrow.

"Father?" he asked.

"Open it," Jeff said. "It's a little gift from me to the both of you."

Sliding a nail under the seal, John worked his finger in and tore the envelope open. When he slid the paper out from within, his eyes widened and he looked at his father.

"It's now official," Jeff said. "Signed and sealed. Custody of Lyra has now been transferred solely to you. Congratulations, son. You're officially her guardian."

John glanced down from the paperwork to his father, then back down again.

"Dad, I didn't realise that's what you wanted the forms signed for," he said, thinking back to the pile of papers his father had him sign. "I didn't… I don't…"

Words failing him, John instead reached out and pulled his father into a hug, the paperwork crinkling between his fingers.

"Thank you, Dad," he said. "Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me."

Jeff rubbed strong circles on his son's back and nodded.

"I know," he said. "And you're very, very welcome."

 **~oOo~**

As the night stretched onwards, the party kept going. The FAB Four retired for the night, replaced by a laptop computer and the Tracys' collective collection of music – which was so vast, it was almost uncountable.

Not all the revellers managed to stay up into the wee hours, though. John smiled as he trudged back up to his room, Lyra asleep on his shoulder. _Poor kid_ , he thought. _You could tell she just wanted to stay up and keep partying._

Alas, it was not to be. Soon enough, she had been out cold – having slumped face-first into a piece of her own birthday cake. _At least it wasn't covered in cream!_ John thought.

He pressed the door release to get into his room and crossed to the bed. Gently, John laid Lyra down on the bed and turned to grab her sleep clothes. Before he could do so, though, he noticed a figure in the doorway.

It was Elijah.

"Hey," he said.

John grinned and stepped towards the door.

"Hey," he replied.

There wasn't much light, only what was coming in from the hallway outside. Elijah had his suit jacket slung over one shoulder and was leaning on his right hip, his head cocked to the side.

"Good day?" he asked.

John nodded and beckoned the other man in.

"Great day," he said. "A _long_ day, but great."

To punctuate the point, Elijah yawned as he walked forward. He deposited his jacket on the end of the bed and folded his arms, looking down at Lyra. She was still snoozing in her dress – which was covered in a variety of different stains, from cake to apple sauce to milk and more.

"I told you it'd get ruined," he said.

John slid in beside Elijah and slipped an arm around his waist.

"I know," he said. "But it was worth it."

The two men stood in silence for a while, watching the little girl sleep. Eventually, Elijah turned and wound his fingers into the hair at the nape of John's neck.

"That was nice of your Dad," he said. "To sort out the custody paperwork, I mean."

Nodding, John smiled and started to trace patterns on the front of Elijah's shirt.

"It was," he said. "I had no idea."

"She's officially yours," Elijah said.

John glanced back at his sleeping daughter, then gave the tiniest of laughs.

"I can't believe how much my life has changed in the past eighteen months or more," he said. Then he looked back at Elijah and smiled. "And when I think about it, most of the changes have been for the better. I have Lyra. I have you. And I have my sanity back."

"What more does a man need?" Elijah asked, leaning in to press a soft kiss on John's cheek. "I know I have everything I ever wanted – and more. Never in my life did I expect to be where I am now, with who I am now." He dropped his gaze from John's eyes. "Never in my life did I expect to be happy."

John reached up to tilt Elijah's chin up so they were looking at one another once again.

"And are you happy now?" he asked.

Swallowing against emotion, Elijah nodded.

"I don't think I could ever be happier," he said. "Not ever."

John wound his arms around the other man's chest and pulled Elijah in for a hug.

Together they stood in silence, imbibing each other's presence. There was nothing more that they needed and nothing more that they desired. They were a picture of true happiness, silhouetted by moonlight, every detail of their joy picked out in silver and they needed nothing more.

After all, love is all you need.

The island had never seen anything like the wedding. Food was piled in mountains, drink was free-flowing (and mostly non-alcoholic), and as the twins would say, the craic was ninety.

After the ceremony, the party had adjourned to the poolside, where Braman had expertly arranged the banquet - all down to Grandma's careful planning and Brains' diligent programming. All was exactly as it should have been – and every face wore a smile.

As the sky started to slip from bright blue to a pale wash, with pink and orange encroaching from below the horizon, there was a flurry of movement. Plates were set aside, chairs were turned, and the Tracy brothers took to the makeshift stage - together, sans the groom, for the first time in a decade.

After a few moments of shuffling and moving instruments around, Gordon did some last minute tuning of his guitar. He cast a glance back at John, who had his eyes closed and was running through rhythms in his head, the drumsticks ghosting over the top of the drum kit. It was at least fifteen years old and hadn't been used in at least ten.

"Are you ready for the big comeback tour?" Gordon asked, tossing his brother a wink.

John opened his eyes and gave Gordon a look that was part-venomous and part-perplexed.

"Not really," he said. "I can't believe we're doing this. I hated being the novelty act at all the family reunions."

Gordon nodded, grinning. It was true. Jeff and Lucy's five boys had always been dragged out to play together amongst the throng of second-cousins and other distant relations of their father's. Having no cousins themselves, they were the youngest - and subsequently, the object of much affection. And when you added musicality to the mix? The gaggle of grey-hairs and _who's-that-nows_ had fallen head over heels for them.

Having abandoned the piano in favour of his priceless 100th anniversary Fender Coronado guitar – candy apple red, in true 1960s style – Virgil checked his connection to a nearby amp and smiled.

"We need a new name," he said. "There are only four of us, now."

Gordon strummed a D chord, then a C, and gave his brother a wink.

"Never fear, brother-mine," he said. "I've got it covered."

He looked out at the tiny audience, then stepped forward to the microphone. It wasn't _strictly_ necessary, but it gave the performance a more professional appeal. _And we need all the help we can get!_ Gordon thought. But then, he returned his mind to the business at hand. He cleared his throat.

"Alright, ladies, gentlemen - and Alan," he said.

Everyone chuckled apart from his younger brother, who simply rolled his eyes. Gordon shrugged and then beckoned for Matthew to come up to the stage. Scott cast him a look of narrow-eyed confusion.

Matthew stepped up to the mike and tapped it.

"Hello? Can you hear me?"

"Unfortunately," Elijah said, deadpan.

Matthew shook his head and continued.

"Lads and ladies. May I present to you, for the first time in ten years - and missing twenty percent of the group - for one night only, The FAB Four!"

There were cheers and groans in equal measure, accompanied by a signature _ba-dum CHISH_ from John on the drums to punctuate the joke. Scott shot Gordon a withering look as Matthew hopped off the stage to reclaim his seat.

"Really, Gordon?" Scott asked. " _That's_ what you came up with?"

"Well, we couldn't be The Fabulous Five anymore, could we?" Gordon asked. "Anyway, let's get this party started." He turned to give Tin-Tin a wink. "We have an audience to please."

And so the show began.

 **~oOo~**

Tin-Tin's cheeks were aching from all the smiling, but it was worth it. Everything had been _perfect_. Even, she thought with a chuckle, The FAB Four's at first _rusty_ attempts at playing together. By the time they got through their second song, they were a little better. By the time they finished the third, they were back on par.

When the boys were tuning up for their fourth number, Tin-Tin reached across and took Alan's hand, giving it a squeeze.

"I love you, Mr Tracy," she said.

Her husband leaned across to give her a peck on the lips. He smelled of cologne with a tint of beer.

"And I love you too, Mrs Tracy."

"Mrs Tracy," Tin-Tin repeated, shaking her head. "I can't believe it. I can't believe we actually did it."

"Me neither," Alan said, "but I'm so glad we did."

From across the round table at which the guests all sat, Grandma Tracy leaned across and tipped the newly married couple a wink.

"It'll take a while to get used to the new name," she said. "I know I was signing myself in my maiden name for at least six months before I finally got the new name right."

Beside her, Jeff chuckled.

"Lucy was much the same," he said. "She kept signing everything as Lucille O'Hara for months after we were married."

Giving a soft giggle, Tin-Tin squeezed Alan's hand again.

"It will be very strange," she said. "My initials are now TTT!"

"Sure, we'll just call you Triple T," Matthew said, then sipped his drink. "Or maybe even… Triple _Threat_."

"Now that's a nickname I could get used to!" Tin-Tin said. "Triple Threat. I like it!"

There was a round of laughter at the table, which was cut off by Virgil stepping up to the microphone.

"Well, for this next number, I'd like to take the opportunity to dedicate the song to one particular brother because, if he's nothing else, he's definitely _good_."

Glancing at Alan, Tin-Tin's brow furrowed.

"What does he mean? And _who_ does he mean?"

"I don't know," Alan said.

Within the first few seconds, though, Tin-Tin understood perfectly and grinned. _Oh, yes,_ she thought. _Good indeed!_

Virgil carried the tune soulfully and his guitar playing became more impassioned with each note.

" _Deep down in Louisiana, close to New Orleans,_

 _Way back up in the woods among the evergreens,_

 _There stood a log cabin made of earth and wood,_

 _Where lived a country boy named Johnny B. Goode,_

 _Who never ever learned to read or write so well,_

 _But he could play the guitar like ringing a bell._ "

By the time they got to the chorus, everyone was clapping and most were on their feet.

" _Go, go_

 _Go Johnny go, go,_

 _Go Johnny go, go,_

 _Go Johnny go, go,_

 _Go Johnny go, go,_

 _Johnny be good._ "

Alan reached out to pull Tin-Tin to her feet and swirled her around, dress swirling and sparkling in the tiki torches Braman had been diligently lighting. Moonlight danced on the surface of the pool and the air was filled with the sounds of laughter and love.

In that moment, Tin-Tin could not have been happier. Everything was perfect. Just perfect.

 **~oOo~**

Gordon wiped the sweat from his brow and enjoyed the electric adrenaline surging through his veins. The crowd were up and dancing, and that was only ever a good thing.

They had gone from _Johnny B. Goode_ to _Don't Stop Believin'_ to _I'll Be There For You_ – and even their father had been up and dancing for that one. Then they had done some of the Cass Carnaby Five's earlier hits.

And the Cass Carnaby Five had given him an idea. After a quick conversation with his brothers, Gordon returned to the microphone with a trick up his sleeve.

"Thank you so much," Gordon said, his breath still a little strained. "I hope you're all having a good time!" There was a cheer from the small crowd and he grinned. "You'll understand if we need to slow things down a little," he continued. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Scott and Virgil here are over thirty and can't keep up with us young-uns."

"Hey!" Scott said – the words were almost a growl.

Gordon shrugged and stuck his tongue out, then returned to the microphone.

"Now, in an unprecedented – and totally unplanned – comeback, I'd like to welcome to the stage none of than the one, the _only_ , Wanda Lamour."

The crowd broke out into raucous applause – at least, nearly all of the crowd.

Penelope threw Gordon a withering glare but, judging by the almost imperceptible twitch of the side of her mouth, in reality she coveted the opportunity to get up and sing. _Which is why she made the Wanda Lamour cover in the first place!_ he thought.

"Alright, alright," she said, raising her hands for quiet. "I shall oblige, since this is a most auspicious occasion."

Parker sprang to his feet and shuffled around to help Penelope mount the stage in her stunning peacock blue and green gown. Gordon bowed a little as he backed away from the microphone, giving Penny a wink.

"I would like to sing a little song that always reminds me of Tin-Tin," she said. "She was with me when I sang this in public for the first time. It's perhaps not the most appropriate of wedding songs, but it shall have to do."

She turned to the brothers, who nodded in unison. Within a few moments, they had started to play. Taking a deep breath, Penelope began to sing.

" _When you play_

 _That dangerous game,_

 _You must learn to break every rule_

 _Learn to watch every glance_

 _And they say_

 _That dangerous game,_

 _Is a game that's played by a fool_

 _When he's taking a chance._

 _So remember the dice may be loaded,_

 _They may deal from the bottom of the pack,_

 _And that ace that you hold up your sleeve_

 _May only be a ten or a jack_

 _So beware,_

 _It may be a frame_

 _You must gamble hard when you play_

 _That dangerous game._

 _That dangerous game…_ "

 **~oOo~**

Penelope set the precedent. After her rendition of _Dangerous Game_ , there was a rash of karaoke – some of it brilliant (their father's rendition of _Thank God I'm a Country Boy_ being one of the best) and some of it hilarious (Matthew's attempt at _Yes Sir, I Can Boogie_ took the cake on that front). The FAB Four hadn't known all the tunes but did their best to play along. Not for the first time, John was glad his instrument was the drums. _I can find my way through anything!_ he thought. _Even after a break of ten years_.

He set down his sticks, however, when he was beckoned down by his grandmother's wizened finger. Jumping from the small stage, he jogged to her and grinned.

"Time?" he asked.

"I think so," she said.

John craned his beck to see what she was pulling out from underneath one of the buffet tables. Grandma Tracy swatted him back and shook her head.

"You're as bad as a kid!" she said.

"I can't help it," John said. "It's not every day your daughter turns one."

"True," Grandma said. She set a large box on the table and lifted the lid. "Now, how's this for a birthday cake?"

When he saw it, John couldn't even speak. His chest tightened as his mouth stretched in a wide smile. _That is amazing!_

Little Lyra's first birthday cake was enormous – round and covered in a deep blue icing – and was adorned with a surprisingly accurate representation of the constellation after which she was named.

"Kyrano spent hours working on this," Grandma Tracy said. "Every single one of those little stars was piped by hand."

Indeed, the backdrop of the cake wasn't just plain blue. It was covered in pearlescent dots of varying sizes, giving the impression of a starry night behind the constellation.

"That's just… _Wow_ ," John said. "I can't believe how much effort he's put into this."

"Be sure to thank him," Grandma said. She produced a candle in the shape of a '1' and placed it near the top, where Lyra's name had been piped in white. "Now, let's show this little lady how much we love her."

John lifted the cake with utmost care and Grandma lit the candle. She gave a little nod to Gordon, who was waiting expectantly. In turn, he nodded at Scott and Virgil. Then, the three began to play.

Recognising the tune, everyone burst into song. Jeff scooped Lyra into his arms and pointed in the direction of her father as together, Grandma and John walked the cake towards her.

" _Happy birthday to you,_

 _Happy birthday to you,_

 _Happy birthday dear Lyra,_

 _Happy birthday to you!_ "

As he sang, John's mind flickered back to the moment that he had scooped the tiny bundle into his arms, still slimy from birth and attached to her umbilical cord. He thought of how warm she felt, how she curled into him. He thought of the unstoppable urge he had experienced to protect her at all costs, no matter what.

 _I thought we would both die that day. I never expected we would get to where we are now…_

But there they were, together after a year. Lyra was healthy. John was healing. And, most importantly of all, their entire family was gathered to celebrate the day.

Jeff grinned as he held his granddaughter out, reluctant to hand her over but obliging all the same.

Grandma took the cake as John gathered his daughter into his arms, giving her a kiss on the forehead.

"Alright, Lyra," he said. "Are you ready to blow out the candles? Don't forget to make a wish!" John glanced up at Jeff and grinned. "Maybe Grandpa can help, too."

Jeff had never moved faster in his life than when he brought his head down to join in.

"Alright," he said, ever the commander. "On the count of three. One, two, THREE!"

Together, three generations of the Tracy family blew out the single candle on the cake to the sounds of cheers and a round of wild applause. Lyra giggled uncontrollably and John couldn't stop himself from grinning like a madman.

"That's my girl," he whispered into her fine blonde hair. "That's my girl."

Within seconds of the candle being blown out, presents had been produced from all directions. Lyra had the most wonderful time ripping off wrapping paper to reveal the treasures underneath. There was one present, though, that went into John's hands, rather than hers.

When Jeff presented his son with an envelope, John raised an eyebrow.

"Father?" he asked.

"Open it," Jeff said. "It's a little gift from me to the both of you."

Sliding a nail under the seal, John worked his finger in and tore the envelope open. When he slid the paper out from within, his eyes widened and he looked at his father.

"It's now official," Jeff said. "Signed and sealed. Custody of Lyra has now been transferred solely to you. Congratulations, son. You're officially her guardian."

John glanced down from the paperwork to his father, then back down again.

"Dad, I didn't realise that's what you wanted the forms signed for," he said, thinking back to the pile of papers his father had him sign. "I didn't… I don't…"

Words failing him, John instead reached out and pulled his father into a hug, the paperwork crinkling between his fingers.

"Thank you, Dad," he said. "Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me."

Jeff rubbed strong circles on his son's back and nodded.

"I know," he said. "And you're very, very welcome."

 **~oOo~**

As the night stretched onwards, the party kept going. The FAB Four retired for the night, replaced by a laptop computer and the Tracys' collective collection of music – which was so vast, it was almost uncountable.

Not all the revellers managed to stay up into the wee hours, though. John smiled as he trudged back up to his room, Lyra asleep on his shoulder. _Poor kid_ , he thought. _You could tell she just wanted to stay up and keep partying._

Alas, it was not to be. Soon enough, she had been out cold – having slumped face-first into a piece of her own birthday cake. _At least it wasn't covered in cream!_ John thought.

He pressed the door release to get into his room and crossed to the bed. Gently, John laid Lyra down on the bed and turned to grab her sleep clothes. Before he could do so, though, he noticed a figure in the doorway.

It was Elijah.

"Hey," he said.

John grinned and stepped towards the door.

"Hey," he replied.

There wasn't much light, only what was coming in from the hallway outside. Elijah had his suit jacket slung over one shoulder and was leaning on his right hip, his head cocked to the side.

"Good day?" he asked.

John nodded and beckoned the other man in.

"Great day," he said. "A _long_ day, but great."

To punctuate the point, Elijah yawned as he walked forward. He deposited his jacket on the end of the bed and folded his arms, looking down at Lyra. She was still snoozing in her dress – which was covered in a variety of different stains, from cake to apple sauce to milk and more.

"I told you it'd get ruined," he said.

John slid in beside Elijah and slipped an arm around his waist.

"I know," he said. "But it was worth it."

The two men stood in silence for a while, watching the little girl sleep. Eventually, Elijah turned and wound his fingers into the hair at the nape of John's neck.

"That was nice of your Dad," he said. "To sort out the custody paperwork, I mean."

Nodding, John smiled and started to trace patterns on the front of Elijah's shirt.

"It was," he said. "I had no idea."

"She's officially yours," Elijah said.

John glanced back at his sleeping daughter, then gave the tiniest of laughs.

"I can't believe how much my life has changed in the past eighteen months or more," he said. Then he looked back at Elijah and smiled. "And when I think about it, most of the changes have been for the better. I have Lyra. I have you. And I have my sanity back."

"What more does a man need?" Elijah asked, leaning in to press a soft kiss on John's cheek. "I know I have everything I ever wanted – and more. Never in my life did I expect to be where I am now, with who I am now." He dropped his gaze from John's eyes. "Never in my life did I expect to be happy."

John reached up to tilt Elijah's chin up so they were looking at one another once again.

"And are you happy now?" he asked.

Swallowing against emotion, Elijah nodded.

"I don't think I could ever be happier," he said. "Not ever."

John wound his arms around the other man's chest and pulled Elijah in for a hug.

Together they stood in silence, imbibing each other's presence. There was nothing more that they needed and nothing more that they desired. They were a picture of true happiness, silhouetted by moonlight, every detail of their joy picked out in silver and they needed nothing more.

After all, love is all you need.


End file.
